Girl in the War
by Nola Swan
Summary: As a child, the Prince of Troy and a young girl are joined by an unlikely friendship. With age it grows into something more, but how can it reach fruition when he is betrothed to Andromache and later thrown into the Trojan War?
1. Prologue

Prologue

The dry ground cut into his skin when he fell to his knees before the invincible warrior whose blue eyes were ablaze in his infinite fury. Blood flooded his lungs due to the spear driven through his armor and deep into his chest, and he gasped incessantly at the elusive air as his body choked on the thick, red liquid. A slight breeze moved his hair across his face, and a stray ray of sunlight blinded him when he gazed up into the face of Death. In that moment, his immense pain melted into the periphery of his consciousness while his mind drifted off to another place and another time long forgotten, yet always remembered. She was standing in a field of gold with the sunlight at her back, causing her outline against the sun to overshadow her and mask her defining features. The sound of her laughter trickled through his memory like rain kissing his heated skin, and she was beckoning him to join her. His feet were weighed down by some unknown force, but he trudged forward with every ounce of his strength, straining to release himself from his invisible bonds and meet her where she stood upon the hill. With every step forward, however, she danced away from him as if even in death they were playing an endless game. Somehow he had always known he would spend his life chasing after her, but he was so tired and heavy now. He called out to her back, and she paused to peer at him over her shoulder. Her smile lit up her face with more force than pure sunlight, and he felt his restraints ease when he was met with her eyes. They reminded him of the sea and rolled over him in gentle waves, coaxing away the last remnants of his pain and leaving him in unadulterated, perfect peace. Faced with his demise, time slowed, and he was oblivious to the warrior's cry or the pain when his sword was thrust beside the spear. In his last seconds before his body crumbled and his head hit the sand, he was weightless while his soul was caught somewhere in the passageway between this world and the next, and flashes from his memory passed before his eyes. Rather than chronologically, the events swirled backwards, and in his final moment, his life ended with the beginning.

—

The blue-green sea was relatively calm due to the gentle nature of the wind that particular afternoon, and consequently, the sun's rays fell heavily across the small caravan gathered on a cliff overlooking the vast Aegean Sea. Behind them sat a quaint sub-village of Troy with lines of unassuming houses, kindly working-class citizens, and an undeniable sense of serenity. Perhaps it was due to the proximity of the sea as Hector had noted other villages to be busier and constantly in motion whereas this particular offshoot of Troy appeared much more relaxed and at ease. Ahead of him, King Priam's salt and pepper curls moved with the breeze, and his azure eyes fixed themselves on the young face of his son when he turned to consider Hector. Without hesitation, his hand found Hector's shoulder, and he squeezed it gently.

"One day, my boy, this will be your kingdom," Priam said proudly with an amused smile when he noted the excitement in Hector's eyes. The king had been travelling about his lands to see his country and countrymen, but mainly he wished to reveal himself as a considerate, attentive ruler who did not spend all his days within his massive palace, feasting on exquisite meals and drinking wine. Also, it provided an important opportunity to show his young son the kingdom he would one day inherit. Hector was only twelve, but he understood the significance of exploring his father's lands when previously he had been confined within the main city walls. Now, however, he took this journey as a sign that he was coming of age and would consequently be expected to take on more responsibilities as the firstborn son. Already, his father insisted he begin combat training –namely in the forms of sword fighting and horseback riding. Hector caught on quickly and was only too eager to continue his training. When he was not practicing his fighting techniques, his father was teaching him all the necessary skills to be a prince in line for the throne. Hector was taught Troy's history, laws, and other matters of state. Likewise, his father instilled in him all the appropriate virtues: honor the gods, love your wife, and fight for your country. Being an exceptional commander or a superior politician was not enough. Hector needed to master all disciplines if he wished to rule Troy as successfully as the line of kings who fell before him.

The royal party lingered about Troy's shores awhile longer since Priam wished to talk to a few farmers returning from their fields. Though Hector was far more disciplined than boys his age, he was only human and prone to growing bored with such adult conversations. He realized he should have feigned a correct amount of interest since his father was engaged in the conversation, but his mind wandered easily. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a sudden movement and swiftly turned his head to fully catch sight of a young girl fleeing from the confines of a house and to a nearby courtyard where she bent over in tears. Without fully realizing what he had done, he slyly slid away from the group and toward the young girl who was so obviously upset. The courtyard smelled sweet from the flowers, and the grass was soft beneath his sandals as he carefully crept up on her and noted that she was around the age of his younger brother Paris or perhaps slightly older. It was difficult to decide with her face hidden behind the veil of her chestnut brown hair. He accidentally kicked a stone, and the girl straightened to see who had snuck up on her. She had large, clear turquoise eyes the color of the sea, and they considered the young prince of Troy in confusion when she did not immediately recognize his face.

"Why are you crying?" Hector asked to break the silence. The look in her eyes made him uncomfortable, and he knew he should have returned to his father's side. However, Hector had been taught not to retreat without first exhausting all other options.

She clumsily wiped at her face with the back of her hands and smeared the tears further across her tan skin rather than fully wiping them away. "I'm not crying."

Hector smiled unexpectedly then at her poor lie, and he swiftly said, "Yes, you are. I can see the tears still on your face."

She sniffled and turned away from him to cross her arms over her chest as she asked in annoyance, "What do you know?"

"I know that you are upset," he answered. "Why?"

She huffed out a sigh and ducked her chin in to her collarbone. "My mother says I can't ride into the market with my brothers tomorrow."

Of course she could not accompany her brothers to Troy. For one thing, she was likely too young to make the ride without complaints and without aid, and for another, she was a girl. At such an age, she had no business in town, and she should have been taught her place long ago. Hector, however, could sympathize with wishing to do something but having a parent forbid it, and he swiftly decided it was not his place to lecture her on the proper virtues of a woman when he had so carelessly surprised her only moments earlier. "I live within the city walls," he offered instead.

"Why are you here?" she asked without realizing he had easily distracted her from the previous subject. She finally allowed her gaze to return to him, and her eyes were no longer filled with thick tears.

"My father wishes to show me all of Troad."

"Why?"

Hector straightened up proudly and squared his shoulders as he had seen the soldiers do when they addressed his father. "My father is Priam, king of Troy, and I will rule these lands when he dies."

The girl stood then in curiosity and approached him without fear. "You're lying," she accused.

"I would not," he assured her and couldn't refrain a frown from falling across his features in response to her doubt.

"Prove it," she swiftly challenged.

Hector glanced down at his royal blue robes, but the girl clearly did not understand their significance. He wondered if he should recount some of his lessons about valor, combat, and politics, but he doubted she would comprehend them considering she couldn't even understand why she wasn't allowed into Troy with her brothers. Ultimately he decided, "Follow me." The young prince then led the girl to the edge of the courtyard and pointed around the corner to where his father was still talking to the farmers. Priam enjoyed conversing with others even if it were with a few poor villagers. It was undoubtedly a useful characteristic as king. "That is my father and our guards."

The girl grew quiet and considered the royal party for several moments before asking, "How can I know that you are his son?"

Hector hadn't expected her to still doubt him, and he initially was unsure how to respond and actually convince her of his station. Once more, he considered his blue robes, but now he had an idea. "We both wear robes bearing the royal emblem," he said with a victorious grin as he pointed to the pin at his shoulder.

The girl leaned in to see it better and then reached out to examine it carefully until she seemed sufficiently satisfied with this proof. When she finally released the pin, she pushed her messy hair from her face as if to smooth it back and asked, "What is your name?"

The young prince stood proudly. "Hector. And yours?"

She tucked a piece of brown hair behind her ear and answered, "Myrina."

Impulsively, Hector removed one of the golden pins from the outer corner of his sleeve where it would not be missed and handed it to her. "Take it."

Myrina hesitated before handling the delicate pin between her fingers. "Why?" she wondered curiously as she peered up at him.

It was difficult for the young prince to explain why he felt compelled to give it to her, but he considered it an appropriate token to mark their unexpected encounter and new acquaintance. His father always received and gave gifts when he formed a new ally, and Hector followed suit as he thought it was only natural. He opened his mouth to explain this mental process, but at that moment, a tall guard appeared behind Hector and found the two children at the edge of the courtyard. His eyes swept across the scene, searching for clues as to what the pair had been up to, but he ultimately said, "My prince, your father calls for you." Hector bowed his head as he realized he had not acted in accordance with Priam's expectations, and he worried that he would disappoint his father when the guard explained where Hector had been. Swiftly, the prince turned without another word to the young girl and followed the guard back toward the royal party.

"Hector!" Myrina called out from behind him. He paused while considering whether he should answer her or continue forward. His curiosity got the better of him, and he peered over his shoulder at her. "Will you visit me again?" she asked when she found his gaze.

Hector smiled at the question and had the satisfaction of knowing that he had made a new acquaintance. "If you don't cry, I will," he promised though he had no way of keeping it. With the innocent mind of a child, however, he assured himself that he would remember her, and he would visit her one day when he could explore his lands without such a large party accompanying him. Perhaps they could be friends. When that would be, he was not certain, but he had meant what he had said. With that, he returned his attention to his father and hurried forward to meet the great king of Troy.


	2. White Horse

Chapter 1  
"White Horse"

It was early in the afternoon when Hector found himself sparring alone in one of the many gardens situated around the perimeter of the Trojan palace. His current objective was to increase his speed, and with every move, he pushed himself beyond his limits, straining for a perfection that he would not allow to remain out of his reach. However, the prince was easily growing frustrated under the sun's heated rays, and he paused to wipe the sweat from his brow with the back of his forearm. He paced momentarily while he released any tension in his body and reminded himself, 'You must always remain two swings ahead of your enemy. You must be faster.' He released a long breath and gathered the tattered remains of his patience as he adjusted his stance and prepared once more. This time, his movements were swifter and more precise, and his confidence grew substantially with the realization that he was capable of much more than he had originally thought. He yelled as he lunged forward at his invisible enemy, thrusting his blade deep within the unseen warrior's chest.

"Brother!" Hector turned to see his younger brother Paris sprinting out of a corridor and over to him. Unlike Hector who seemed as though he would grow incessantly, Paris was shorter with a slender build. He was only ten, but already his features were developing with a handsome allure not shared by his older brother. Where Hector was Herculean, muscular, and rugged, Paris was beautiful, fair, and attractive. Though the brothers shared tight-knit brown curls and chestnut eyes, they differed greatly in their physical attributes as well as their mental capacities. Even at their young age, their personalities were developing at odds. Under his father's watchful eye, Hector was becoming a man prepared to lead an army and one day a country. He was disciplined, intelligent, fierce, loyal, and courageous. Paris on the other hand did not share the same responsibilities as Hector, and the younger sibling had enjoyed much more leniency as he grew up. Consequently, he was gentle, passionate, immature, and always causing trouble –which Hector inevitably ended up handling. Paris was out of breath from undoubtedly running from some mischief of his own creation, and Hector smirked as his brother doubled over and struggled to breathe.

"Catch your breath, Paris," the older prince advised with a hint of amusement, and he allowed himself to sit on one of the stone benches and rest his tired limbs.

Paris straightened though his breath was still irregular, and he considered his brother with large, fearful, doe eyes. "Do you love me, brother?" he asked, and his voice nearly quivered from his palpable anxiety.

Hector's smirk dissipated slightly under his brother's serious gaze, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What?"

"Would you protect me from any enemy?" Paris continued with his evident despair growing and contorting his handsome features in a panicked grimace.

"What have you done?" Hector's voice was low and calm, but his chestnut eyes spoke of his uneasiness. Paris hesitated before his brother and licked his dry lips anxiously as he shifted from foot to foot. The words, however, appeared lumped up in his throat, and Hector easily grew impatient. "Speak!"

"I took father's horse," the young man blurted out suddenly, and he nearly trembled when the admission was out in the open.

The way Paris had been behaving, Hector half expected his brother to discuss how he had murdered someone, and admittedly the older prince relaxed as he realized it was not quite so dire. Still, stealing their father's horse was not a small offense, and Hector rubbed a hand across his face as he wondered how to best remedy the situation. "Where is the horse?" It seemed like the best way to begin deciding on his plan, and he considered his brother with weary eyes.

"I do not know," Paris stammered nervously.

That, unfortunately, made things much more complicated. Hector tilted his head in surprise and annoyance at the statement. "What?" he asked while struggling to keep his anger from entering his tone.

"Someone stole it! He rode out of the gates!" Paris looked near tears suddenly, and he turned his gaze to his feet.

Hector's temper was on the rise, but as he noted how upset his brother was, he swallowed down his disapproval. Evidently the younger man had been beating himself up enough about it, and Hector felt no need to admonish him further –at least not until they found the horse. With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself to his feet and handed his wooden practice sword to his younger sibling. "Go to your room and wait until I come for you," he commanded, and Paris swiftly ran away once more without another peep. Hector grumbled under his breath and immediately headed to the stables to retrieve his steed, and he galloped out of the gates after their father's horse. How he could possibly manage to find the beast was beyond him, but he knew that he had to at least try. It would also give him ample time to think of some excuse for why Paris had taken the horse initially, or if he could somehow keep Paris from the conversation entirely, that would be ideal.

The prince dug his heels into his horse's sides and pushed them onward toward the nearest village outside the city walls. It was unlikely that he would pick up any clues, and he realized how much of a long shot it was. Still, the prince would not surrender, and he rode for hours until he reached the outskirts and saw several fishermen returning from a day at sea. "You there!" he called out and rode up beside them. Hector's position was not immediately noticeable since he donned the black robes he wore when he trained. Consequently, the fishermen paused in curiosity to see who would command their attention before they noticed the blue material across the horse's back which bore the royal emblem. They swiftly bowed their heads to show their respect. "Have you seen a man on a horse riding through here? The horse would be white."

The two fishermen considered each other as they thought it over. "No, my lord," one decided. "This is my first time returning to the village since the morning." The other man appeared equally stumped, and Hector nodded graciously before spurring his horse further into the village. When he could, he asked the people walking through the streets or situated outside their homes if they had seen any sign of his father's horse. Each person answered similarly to the fishermen, and Hector was growing increasingly resigned. He wouldn't allow himself to fully surrender until he had at least searched the village in its entirety, but he could already see the edge where the houses ended. The prince guided his horse to the outskirts of the village where a cliff overlooked the Aegean Sea. His eyes searched the familiar sight with interest as he struggled to grasp its significance. It was like remembering a dream, but then he recalled visiting this village five years earlier and meeting a particular young girl. He turned his horse and recognized the courtyard where he had spoken with her. "What was her name?" he murmured under his breath and stared intently at the courtyard as if it held the answer he sought. Unlike then, the flowers and other greenery had long been dead, and the courtyard no longer held the mystical appeal he had remembered as a boy. His gaze lifted to consider the house he had seen the young girl flee from, and he wondered if she were inside. "What was her name?" he grumbled again, growing annoyed that he could not readily recall it. Granted it had been so many years ago when he was so young, but he had thought of her often in the year after he had met her. With time, however, the memory of her had faded, and he struggled to retrieve it from the perimeter of his consciousness. Now, he wondered how she was faring, but the untended courtyard did not bode well in his mind.

At that moment, a streak of white caught his eye, and he turned his head to see a cloaked form on a white horse galloping down the beach away from the village. Without hesitation, he dug his heels into his horse and set off after them. The rider had a good start on the prince, but Hector was fast especially astride his own steed.

"My lord! My lord!" One of the fishermen came running down from the village to warn the prince of the white horse, but he saw the young man was already in pursuit. Hector lifted his hand in silent recognition for the man's help as he galloped past, but he could not spare a moment to verbalize his appreciation. His chestnut eyes were situated on the back of the rider, and he tightened his grip on the horse as he spurred the steed on even faster. Hector was steadily gaining on the other rider, but it felt like an eternity as he chased after him, hot on his heels.

"Halt!" the prince yelled loudly once he thought he was within earshot. Instead, the rider attempted to race faster, but it was obvious the horse was growing tired. His father did not ride as often as Hector, and consequently, his horse was not as prepared as Hector's for such an extreme exertion as a chase. The rider seemed to realize this and veered right to shift his route. As he maneuvered, the rider chanced a glance back at the prince to assess their distance, and the hood from around his head fell back to reveal that the culprit was in fact a woman. Hector tried to swallow his surprise as he saw the long brown hair catch in the wind and trail out behind her as she rode. Whether it was a woman or man, however, the prince would catch her and retrieve his father's prized horse. "Halt!" he tried once more, and as if on cue, the woman stopped, dismounted, and took off on foot through the uneven rock where the beach gave way to another cliff hanging over the Aegean. Hector swiftly dismounted as well and ran after her. She was fast he observed as he struggled to keep up with her speed. It was difficult to maintain his footing on the uneven rocks, and he stumbled a few times. The prince, however, would not let a woman evade him. She appeared to be having as much trouble as Hector, and unexpectedly her foot caught on a rock, causing her to fall onto the hard surface. Hector was on her in mere moments, and he forced her onto her back as he straddled her and held his dagger against her neck.

What he saw when her hair fell from her face was not a hardened female thief, but a young girl perhaps only a few years older than Paris. The sight shook him to his core, but he could not bear to release his dagger from her throat. She was a criminal who had stolen his father's horse. 'She's only a child,' his mind warned him, and he eased up his grip on her shoulders. Her medium brown hair fanned out around her like a halo upon the rocks, and her blue-green eyes shone with a defiance unexpected of such a young woman.

"Get off of me, you brute," she growled and writhed beneath him, but her arms were pinned by his legs.

"You stole my father's horse," he rejoined swiftly. "You cannot go unpunished."

"I haven't stolen anything," she answered and continued her struggle. "It is my brother's horse!"

"Your trickery is useless," he assured her and grinned victoriously down at her as he realized he had caught the thief and could return to the palace favorably. Then he felt her knee hit him square in his lower back, and he tumbled forward from the force. She scrambled to her feet, but he caught her ankle. The girl fell once more and groaned as she hit the hard stone. She lifted herself up onto her elbows and peered back at the prince who still held her ankle captive. Using her free leg, she kicked at him, and he lifted his other arm to block the blows. "You cannot run!" he yelled as she continued to berate his arm. She was stronger than he had expected, but she was nowhere near as powerful as him.

"Let me go," she returned desperately. Hector lowered his arm, which resulted in taking a heel to the jaw, and grabbed her other leg. His patience was completely gone by this time, and he was furious that she had managed to land a blow even if it was a cheap shot. Swiftly, he pulled the girl down to his level while ignoring how her dress caught on the rocks and rose around her thighs, and he pinned her wrists on either side of her head and placed his knees on her inner thighs to keep her from kneeing him once more. His jaw was red and swelling already from where she had kicked him, and he peered down at her with his chestnut eyes ablaze in anger. What he had not bet on was seeing her eyes well up with tears. He was suddenly caught between holding her down and insisting she return with him to the palace to be properly tried, or releasing her. She closed her lids tightly, causing the tears to slide down her cheeks. It was obvious she had tried to stop them before they could spill over her lower lashes, but her attempts had been futile. "Please don't," she gasped suddenly, and Hector was initially confused by her words. Then he realized, however, that her legs were spread beneath him, and she obviously feared that he would force himself upon her. The tears quelled Hector's fiery rage, and he swiftly rolled off of her without another word.

"It was not my intention to…" He lowered his head shamefully and noted that he had been far too rough and careless with a young lady. He was to treat women with respect, and here his careless actions had convinced her that he would rape her. "You kicked me," he tried to explain, but he soon realized he was mumbling and panicking. The girl sat up and wiped away her tears as if they had never fallen down her cheeks, and she refused to meet Hector's gaze as she pulled the hem of her dress back down around her ankles to cover her slender legs. An uneasiness and guilt easily settled in the young man's stomach, and he observed, "You're hurt." Clearly during one of her falls she had injured her knee. The rock had cut through her dress and sliced open the tender flesh situated over her kneecap. The girl did not answer, but her eyes slid over to consider the wound. Even at the sight, she did not budge. He reached out to tend to it as a peace offering, and the girl flinched. Hector swiftly retracted his hands and assured her, "I mean you no harm. I was brash." He bowed his head once more. "I apologize." Still, she did not answer and would not meet his gaze. The prince attempted once more to reach for her injured knee, but this time she did not move from him. "I need to see the wound," he explained softly as he guided the material up, lifting it from the cut. She hissed when he pulled the fabric away, and Hector struggled to be gentle though it was not readily in his nature. The cut was a rather nasty one, but it would not require stitches. There were pieces of debris in the wound, and Hector dutifully extracted them one by one as cautiously and carefully as he could.

"It is my brother's horse," she said suddenly, and he tensed at the unexpected sound of her voice. It was soft, almost velvety and laced with a naive innocence. His eyes lifted from her wound to meet her gaze.

"I did not know," he admitted though he was not entirely convinced. Why would she have fled from him if she were innocent? He was vaguely aware how gruff and low his voice sounded in comparison to her own.

"I am not supposed to take it without asking," she murmured as if she could read his thoughts. "I was worried when you chased after me."

Hector sighed as her words rang truthfully for him, and he sat back to consider her fully. "My father's horse was stolen. I thought you had taken it." When she did not answer, he continued, "I was wrong." It was not often that the prince of Troy apologized so easily, and the words left a bitter taste in his mouth. Perhaps it was his pride dissolving on his tongue.

Silence fell between them once more while Hector finished his task. He then tore a piece from the bottom of the material wrapped about his waist and tied it across her knee. "Do you live within the walls?" she asked abruptly. She had a tendency to break the quiet without warning and in short bursts, and it irritated the prince only because she managed to startle him each time.

"Yes," he answered and checked the integrity of the make shift bandage.

"Do you know of the prince… Hector?" She was so cautious as she asked that it almost seemed as if she were revealing some secret.

Hector smirked at the ignorance of her question and considered her with a raised brow. "Why do you wish to know?"

"No reason," she lied and dropped her gaze to her lap, but her demeanor changed entirely when she brought up the topic. Where she had originally been defiant, powerful, and challenging, she was now nervous, uncertain, and shy.

The shift intrigued Hector, and he was not ready quite yet to reveal his identity. "Do you know the prince?" he pried curiously. Something about her seemed vaguely familiar, but he could not place his finger on it. He did not like entering situations without proper foresight, and he sought now if through deceit to gain that knowledge before they continued their conversation further.

"I did," she admitted quickly and immediately fell silent again. A moment passed where Hector thought she might not speak until she opened her mouth and wondered, "Is he well?"

Hector's interest increased substantially at her latest inquiry, but he was growing frustrated with how she would not fully answer his questions. "Yes," he decided at length. "He is training for war."

"War?" she repeated, and her eyes darted up to meet his in shock at the word. "Is he leaving for war?"

"No," Hector assured her and pondered the concern in her eyes. "But he undoubtedly will when Troy is called to battle next. It is his duty." She licked her lips and turned her gaze down to her lap once more. In her current pensive state, Hector realized she had no desire to respond to his statement, so he pushed further, "How did you know the prince?"

A small smile curved her lips upward as she clearly considered a memory that had passed. 'A smile is good,' he noted to himself. Any social awkwardness about forgetting this girl completely was easily consumed by his increasing curiosity. "When I was young," she began and chuckled lightly under her breath, "he was kind to me."

"How so?" he wondered, and something in the back of his mind encouraged him to keep her talking. In the meantime, he noticed that her eyes were the exact color of the Aegean Sea, and it struck at something familiar in his memory. Hector, however, could not recall it exactly. It evaded him with skill, but it always seemed as if his fingers were at the edges, ready to grab hold of it and reveal it fully.

"I was upset," she confessed without offering more, and he found himself picturing the girl in the courtyard from so many years ago.

When her eyes met his next, he hastily asked, "What is your name?" The prince hadn't even realized he had asked the question until it left his lips. His body tensed excitedly at the possibility of who this mystery girl could be.

Her brow furrowed slightly under the intensity of his gaze, and she murmured under her breath, "Myrina."

"Myrina," he repeated with a sigh of relief. His mind had been aching to recall her name, and now he relaxed as he finally found his answer. He chuckled and inspected her with new eyes. Fate did work in bizarre ways, causing their paths to cross so intriguingly. She had grown considerably from the young girl he had found crying in the courtyard, but as then, her eyes narrowed in confusion when she did not recognize his face though it was clear he knew her. Hector grinned and said, "I thought I told you not to cry."

The familiar, lost words stung her as she recognized their significance, and her face lit up in a smile. "Hector!" she cried happily and took his face between her hands without warning. Her eyes danced across his features, and he smiled lopsidedly at her thorough inspection. "You've grown," she observed. Then she released a hand to smack him playfully on the arm and asked, "Why did you deceive me?"

Hector bowed his head self-consciously as he was caught in his lie and replied, "I was not certain of your identity."

"You have an interesting way of asking for someone's name," she teased, but she was not in the least bit upset with him. She seemed absolutely ecstatic that he was in fact the man she had been inquiring about. It felt like a reunion between long lost friends, and Hector returned her broad smile without hesitation. Her enthusiasm at that moment lessened slightly, and her brow knit once more above her bright eyes. "Why did you not come?"

Hector scratched his head sheepishly and struggled to formulate some lie. The reality, however, was much easier to discuss especially under the weight of her sincere gaze, and he admitted, "I could not."

"Why?" she asked swiftly.

"I have been training as I told you."

"I was sad," she suddenly said. "I was waiting for you, but you never came."

"I am sorry," he rejoined earnestly. "I did not mean to deceive you."

Without warning, she smiled once more and abandoned her sorrowful attitude. "You must tell me everything," she decided. "It has been so long since we last spoke."

"How old are you now?" Hector wondered aloud before he could stop himself.

"Thirteen," she answered and considered him curiously. "And you?"

He bowed his head as he recognized their age difference. "Seventeen." That realization suddenly reminded him of the peculiar nature of their reunion, and he found himself acknowledging the awkwardness of the situation. What was truly bizarre, however, was that it felt completely natural to sit with her and talk openly though they were essentially strangers. "I must return to the palace before dark," he stated suddenly and admittedly wished to flee from the unusual scene. He didn't understand how he could feel so comfortable with her when he barely knew her, they were rather distant in ages, and he had practically tackled her to the ground only minutes earlier.

"Now?" she asked with an innocent frown of disapproval. "Can we not speak a little longer?"

"No," he answered resolutely as he stood once more, but then his eyes noted the black material wrapped around her knee. "Are you able to walk?" Myrina struggled to find an appropriate way to stand, and Hector at length took her hands and lifted her to her feet without any difficulty. Her knee was undoubtedly sore from the tumble, and she was hesitant to place too much weight on it. With the uneven rocks beneath them, Hector was certain she would fall again, and he guided her form against his side to steady her as they returned to the beach. Their horses had strayed from their original position, but they did not wander far. Hector abandoned the girl to retrieve them, and he was faced with yet another difficulty. Would she be able to ride without falling off?

Noting his hesitation, she swiftly assured him, "I will be fine, but I need help up." The prince laced his fingers together and bent down to offer them as a step. She placed her foot in his cupped hands, steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder, and swung her injured leg astride the horse as he helped lift her light form. Once settled, she peered down at him with a soft smile. "I am glad I have seen you and know you are well."

Hector was uncertain how to respond, but he reluctantly smiled back at her. "You should return home before your family worries. Clean your wound thoroughly to stave off infection." The hint of concern to his voice was unmistakable, and Myrina seemed pleased that he cared enough to mention it.

"I will," she promised with a resolute nod, "on one condition." Her eyes lit up mischievously when she delivered the words though they harbored no ill will.

"What are your terms?" he asked, and his evident amusement laced his voice.

"Promise you'll visit me again," she answered without hesitation.

The prince ducked his head to avoid her eyes as he mulled the proposition over. Their unlikely friendship both intrigued and confused him, but his gaze fell on the black material peeking through the tear in her dress. After his brash behavior, the least he could do was spare her a visit sometime down the line. Her company was not detestable, and she had granted him a rather nice lump on his jaw which now entertained him for some unknown reason. "I will," he decided and patted the horse's side. "Go home."

"Be well," she said before she kicked the horse and galloped off down the beach. Hector stared after her, and she glanced back over her shoulder only once at him. He lifted his hand in a final farewell, and then he mounted his own steed and hurried back within the city walls.

It was evening by the time the prince finally returned his horse to the palace stables. The sun was disappearing behind the horizon, and the sky was full of rosy oranges, golds, and purples. He realized he had nearly been absent the entire day without informing anyone of his whereabouts, and considering the palace was not in an upheaval searching for him, he assumed that none had noticed or had been too concerned by his unwarranted disappearance. Still, he swiftly ducked his head to hide his injury and hurried to his quarters to recuperate and sort through the events of the day. He also needed to think of some reason to explain why he had a lump on his jaw should anyone see it. Paris was waiting anxiously inside Hector's quarters, and he shot forward when his older brother entered. Hector restrained a groan at the sight and wished for once he could enjoy some solitude.

"Brother," Paris said as he stood before the larger man, and his eyes settled on Hector's swollen jaw. "Have you fought someone?"

"Yes," he confessed irritably though there was absolutely no chance he would admit that a woman had been the source of his injury.

"You found the thief!" Paris guessed, and his nerves gave way to excitement. Surely if Hector had found the culprit, their father's horse would be returned.

His brother's enthusiasm at the prospect annoyed Hector further because he would be forced to admit defeat. He realized he needed to respond and wondered which lie was worse: to have found the thief and let him get away, or to have not found the thief and fought a random civilian? He was far too irritated to decide that moment and merely granted Paris a short "No."

"But your face," the younger sibling pressed in confusion.

"Leave me," Hector growled before Paris could pester him further. He was in no mood to address his brother at the moment, but Paris did not budge. Hector's dark gaze slid over to consider him in silent warning, and Paris gulped as he clearly decided whether this was a battle worth fighting. Ultimately, he chose retreat, and he turned on his heel and left Hector's quarters. Once alone, Hector sat on the edge of his bed with an exhausted sigh and allowed himself to enjoy the silence permeating through his room.

"My lord," a servant interrupted, and Hector was forced to restrain the urge to throw something at him. "Will you require fresh robes before dinner?"

Hector's chestnut eyes considered his dirty and torn black robes, and he answered, "Yes." 'Dinner,' his mind chided him. He had not been thinking far enough ahead, and he swiftly rose to his feet to consider his reflection in the mirror. The lump on his jaw wasn't terrible, but it was certainly noticeable. Once more, Hector reminded himself to find an excuse while he dipped his hands in a bowl of water and splashed some on his face to remove the grime of the day. However, his mind was not interested in showing any discipline in that particular moment, and Hector's eyes considered his reflection again as his thoughts wandered to a certain young girl who had granted him the injury on his jaw. He smirked at the memory and admitted to himself, "It was a good shot." He chuckled under his breath then and prepared for dinner while smiling as he replayed their short conversation over in his head. She had been so elated when she had realized who he was, and Hector felt his curiosity pique somewhat. When they had first met years ago, had he truly made such an impression on her? Perhaps he would keep his promise and visit her this time. After all, as a prince in line for the throne, he was taught a man's word was a powerful thing.

"My lord," the servant said when he returned with new robes and bowed before the prince. "The king wishes an audience with you before dinner."

"Very well," Hector murmured when he took the material from the servant without another word. Moments later his footfall echoed off the walls as he headed toward his father's quarters in a pair of clean blue robes. Further ahead, he saw his brother Paris glance back at him, but rather than acknowledging the older prince's presence, Paris swiftly turned from him and hurried down the corridor. There was no doubt in Hector's mind that he would now be granted the silent treatment, but for once, he was grateful for his brother's immature show of anger. Hector was in no mood to speak with him, let alone anyone, but he steeled himself as he paused outside the doors to his father's chambers. He would remain stoic and composed no matter what his father said. The prince was certain this was in reference to his father's horse, or rather the current lack there of. Paris was already standing before their father when Hector finally slipped through the doors.

"Leave us," Priam commanded, and with a wave of his hand, every servant disappeared from the room. The great King of Troy was not a young man by any means, but he wore his age well, causing many to assume he was in fact younger than he was. Priam enjoyed this, and he was careful to maintain his health for this reason if not only to keep Troy's enemies at bay. There were always wolves poised to pounce on the city, and if anyone caught word of the king falling ill in his old age, there was a grave possibility armies would appear on the shores of Troy. Priam did not yet have an heir prepared to lead his country though Hector would prove a menacing leader when he came of age. In the meantime, Priam had no intentions of bowing out anytime soon. "I would appreciate it if we could evade all the unnecessary questioning, and one of you would merely tell me where it is," the king said frankly as he considered the pair standing before him. Years of handling their mischief had left him with little patience.

Paris had not yet learned to be tactful, and he swiftly broke under their father's stern gaze before Hector could speak. "I am at fault, father. I have betrayed your trust. I took the horse, and it was stolen from me. If you wish it of me, I will search for the horse until dawn. I will not cease until I find it and win your favor once more." Hector struggled not to roll his eyes at the irony. Paris always seemed to promise deeds which he knew he would never have to fulfill because their father was too lenient with Paris. If it had been Hector, he would undoubtedly be out searching for the steed without access to the palace until he found it. He knew that Paris would simply be given a slap on the wrist. Hector had long forgotten his bitterness at the differences in their father's treatment between the two siblings since it had become a fact of everyday life now. Hector was held to a higher standard, punished when he did not meet those expectations, and weighed down with the responsibility that he would lead the country one day. What did Paris have to concern himself with? Poetry? Archery? The only sign of Hector's disapproval was his arms crossing over his broad chest as he awaited their father's reaction.

Priam did not respond to Paris' statement, and his blue eyes slid over to consider his eldest son who had not spoken a word. "What was your role in this?"

Hector kept his face and voice neutral as he answered, "Paris required my help, and I searched the countryside for your horse, father."

Priam's gaze fell to his son's swollen jaw, and he wondered aloud, "There was foul play?"

His tone seemed caught somewhere between a question and a statement, so that initially Hector was uncertain if Priam actually sought some sort of answer from his eldest son. There was a pause of silence where the king did not move to speak further, and though it was obvious, Hector swiftly rejoined, "Yes."

"What of the other man?"

Hector struggled to keep his irritation from seeping into his voice as he painfully swallowed his pride and lied, "He fled."

"I see," Priam breathed as a sigh. The two words spoke volumes, and his father's disappointment hit Hector as a knife to the chest. He bit the inside of his cheek until he drew blood, but it was not nearly punishment enough for causing his father any dissatisfaction. "We will keep this matter amongst ourselves," the king decided then. "But you," his eyes were on his eldest son, "will use every afternoon to search for the horse until it is returned to me, and I am satisfied that it is not an impostor."

Hector's body nearly trembled from the rage flaring up inside of him and threatening to boil over if he allowed his countenance to crack even the slightest bit. Paris had stolen the horse, and yet somehow his father found a way to punish Hector for it! Was it because his father thought Hector had allowed the thief to get away? Did that make him a disgraceful son? He bit back his venomous anger and responded without a hint of emotion, "Yes, father."

* * *

**Author's Note**: Hello, everyone! I would like to point out a few things before going any further. First, I know some people get very upset about the names of original characters when they're placed in Troy, so I wanted to assure you all Myrina is an ancient name. It's a Greek name possibly meaning "swiftly bounding." In mythology, Myrina is a warrior queen of the Amazons who defeated the people of Atlantis, and it is also a name that's mentioned in the _Iliad_ (someone's grave marker in Troad). I didn't choose the name because of the mythological significance though haha I just thought it was pretty :X Now that I have all my ducks in a row, onward! haha I hope you all enjoyed the prologue and first chapter and will continue reading xoxo


	3. Secret

Chapter 2  
"Secret"

The moon was a mere crescent sliver against the starlit night sky, but it poured out its entire light down upon the earth. Already, the sun was threatening to rise over the distant horizon, and the sky to the east was a warm golden color, turning the night sky purple as it chased away the darkness. In the early twilight, Myrina was relieved from the need of a candle to light her path in the waning darkness. The trail was familiar from years of treading across it, and she easily maneuvered her way from her home and down to the abandoned courtyard to retrieve her treasure. She searched in the pale moonlight for the cluster of stones which marked her long lost burial ground. Her eyes quickly found them, and she knelt in the dirt and dug with her fingers into the dry soil. A few stray pebbles in the dirt impeded her advance and scraped her knuckles, but she ignored the mild sting of pain. She was much too excited to cease her search because of a few stones, and at length, she found the object of her quest. The metal was tarnished from years spent under the earth's surface, but she recognized its shape and feel against her fingers. Using the edge of her dress, she gingerly cleaned it off and held it up in the moonlight to admire the gold pin Hector had given her when they first met. Initially, she had kept it hidden in her bedroom beneath her mattress where none could find it and steal it. She enjoyed keeping it close to her because she had decided that whenever Hector returned to her, she would proudly show him the pin, and he would be impressed by her loyalty at keeping the small trinket within reach. However, when Hector never came back to see her, she had grown angry and buried the pin in the dirt, covering it with stones. In a way, she had marked the death of their innocent friendship, but now she resurrected the trinket and promised herself that she would clean it before she saw him again. Perhaps he would laugh at her for holding onto it for years, or maybe he would be amazed by it. Myrina hoped for the latter as she hurriedly snuck back inside her home and to her bedroom.

She dipped her fingers in a bowl of water and scrubbed the dirt from under her nails. In an hour or so, her father would expect her to be up and beginning her chores which would only dirty her hands again. However, she didn't want him to notice their already soiled state and interrogate her as to her whereabouts earlier that day. A young woman was not supposed to leave the house as she had in the early morning, but she did not want anyone to discover her purpose. Hector was her secret, and she had never spoken a word of the prince to her brothers or father for fear of being forbidden from seeing him again. She dried her hands off and inspected them in the candlelight to assess whether they were properly cleaned. Once she was satisfied with their appearance, she dipped the pin in the water and dried it with a piece of linen. It was still beautiful despite its tarnished finish, and she fingered it thoughtfully while thinking of the day she had first met him.

It had appeared obvious to Myrina that their meeting had not had as great an impact on Hector as it had had on her. She blamed it on the token of their friendship which she had clung onto in the hard times following Hector's arrival. Not even a month after Hector had found her in the courtyard, Myrina's mother had fallen ill. Her father was a fisherman and not particularly wealthy. Consequently, he could not afford the proper remedies to cure his wife of her ailment. It had been a dark time for the entire family when her mother passed several months later. Myrina's father especially grew withdrawn and distant. For weeks, her older brothers were forced to take over her father's business while the man mourned for his wife. Likewise, her father was forced to hire a servant who could help Myrina assume the role of the woman of the house to the best of her abilities even though she was only eight. There simply was no other option. As a result, she lost her childhood early on, but seeing Hector had reminded her of the happier times in her life. Holding the pin seemed to draw the dark energy out of her body, leaving her peaceful in its wake.

When she was young and plagued by the hard times surrounding her, she would remember their meeting in the garden when the young prince had been kind to her and comforted her. It was silly, but she would hold the pin and pretend that she could tell Hector anything. In fact, in her mind she had already had numerous conversations with him, discussing all of her difficulties and triumphs. Without even meaning to, Hector had become her dearest friend. She smiled somewhat as she thought of her childish fantasies, but in that period of her life where finding a light at the end of the tunnel seemed impossible, she had needed a confidante. Hector if only in her imagination had given her that relief, but she felt slightly silly now as she realized how she had behaved when they were reunited yesterday. "You are a very foolish girl," she murmured under her breath and was embarrassed by her previous actions. Seeing him had overwhelmed her with happiness, but to him, she was merely a stranger. Perhaps he thought she was mad. She wouldn't necessarily blame him, and now her gaze turned bitter as she considered the pin. "He will not see you again." He was a prince. What time could he spare to a lowly, silly girl like her? She did not deserve or warrant his friendship, and they could never truly be friends. As this revelation resonated through her mind, she grew angry and hastily hid the pin beneath her mattress so she would no longer have to look upon it. Now the pin symbolized her naivety and foolishness, not their friendship, and she wished to be rid of it. She wanted to shed her childish fantasies and behave maturely though she did not truly comprehend the implications of such a desire.

Dawn crept across the horizon, and Myrina heard sounds of the house stirring. Her father would leave soon to practice his craft with the help of her brothers while she would be left at the house to attend to the daily needs. Poseidon had not granted them much luck with their catches lately, but her father had kept the servant around even though they did not necessarily have the money to spend on her. Over the years, she had grown to be a mother figure for Myrina and almost assumed a similar status within the family. Her wage was meager, but Myrina suspected she stayed out of loyalty more than for the money. If she abandoned her position, there was no doubt Myrina would miss her dearly, and she was thankful each day for the company as well when the men left the house. The girl swiftly departed from her room where her irritated thoughts had consumed the small space, nearly choking her under their weight, and she sought out the fresh air of the kitchen where the servant Isidora was already preparing for the day.

"You have stirred early," she noted when she saw Myrina enter the kitchen.

"I could not sleep," she admitted in response.

"Are you ill?" the woman asked while arranging a meal for the men and tying up bundles of food for them to take on their journey out to the sea.

"No," Myrina assured her and joined her in her task. She handled it hastily since her annoyance made her impatient and unusually brusque.

Isidora easily noticed and placed a calming hand on Myrina's forearm. "What ails you?" she coaxed gently.

Myrina paused as she realized she had been caught, but she avoided the servant's gaze. "My thoughts consume me," she confessed but swiftly added, "It is of no concern."

Isidora likely would have pried further, but Myrina was grateful when her father entered the small space and interrupted their conversation. She had no desire to discuss the nature of her thoughts. She merely wished to bury herself in her chores and forget the entire affair. "My dear daughter," he said in greeting and kissed the crown of her head affectionately. Ever since their mother's passing, he had been especially kind to her. Perhaps he saw her mother in Myrina and clung to the last pieces of his wife. "Eos has only just opened the gates, and yet you are already about your chores." He smiled proudly and moved past the two women where he paused in the doorway. "Could you instill that haste in your brothers and wake them for me?"

"I will try," she promised with a sly smile at her father, "but they are stubborn in their ways."

"Ah yes," he rejoined. "The curse of young men: laziness and heavy feet." He lifted a finger and shook it as if to mark his next words into the air, "Had they no chores, they would be up and about the house with no qualms… Now off with you." Myrina bowed her head to hide her amused grin at her father's words and turned to hurry down the corridor and wake her brothers. 'Were Korina about at this hour, I'm certain Aeton wouldn't dare sleep so late,' she mused to herself. Her eldest brother was undeniably smitten with the daughter of one of their neighbors, and Myrina found herself wondering if they would be married. They had not even spoken, but any time he could catch a glimpse of her, he seemed more elated than if they returned with a favorable catch. Naturally, his younger brother teased him for this, but Myrina thought it was sweet. Her brother was a good man who worked hard to help their father, and she thought he deserved such happiness.

Once her brothers were up, the stillness and quiet of the house in the early morning was disturbed completely, and Myrina was grateful for this. It left her no time to her thoughts, and she was granted momentary peace in the chaos before the men left. Aeton would have been angry with her if he had discovered that she took his horse out without asking, but she had returned it before her brothers and father came home the previous day. She was also grateful that Isidora had not mentioned a word. It would have only caused trouble, and Myrina suspected that was why she kept it to herself. Not only that, but she knew her place as a servant though they treated her with more kindness and respect. She had no need to speak of Myrina's actions behind her back. In any case, Myrina realized it was not proper of her to gallop about on her own, but she often grew bored of her daily routine. It was easy to grow restless in her small village, and she occasionally was jealous of her brothers who left the house each day. She wished for that same amount of freedom. Being a woman restrained her actions and possibilities, and her mind longed for some sort of excitement or adventure in her life. Maybe that was part of the reason she had been so elated to see Hector. He was something new to her. He had possibilities, and she truly wished he would tell her stories of the palace life, of his childhood, of his family, and of everything he had experienced. Anything that fell from his lips would be exotic to her, and she strove for something to stimulate her lest she die a miserable, boring death in her village.

Growing up without a mother's guidance in this important period of her life was more confusing and difficult than she could express. Her relationship with Isidora was limited though they both cared for the other. Isidora was their servant and not her mother. Myrina wanted to asked her mother about all the intricacies of growing up as a woman. Having two older brothers did not make her place any less complicated. As a child, it was hard for her to understand why she was treated so differently from them. 'Because you are a girl' was always the answer. Yes, but what did that matter? Why could she not run with them, go out to sea with them, or speak her mind freely like them? None could provide her a satisfactory answer, and she had long learned to keep the questions to herself. Somehow she had convinced herself that if her mother were still alive, she could explain these complicated emotions to Myrina. Perhaps it was merely another one of her childish fantasies. Maybe no one had a true answer to those questions. Seeing other women and young girls, she wondered if they felt the same and merely hid it better. It was something Isidora had noted on one occasion when Myrina was younger: she desperately needed to learn to hide her emotions more skillfully. Apparently it would make her life easier if she buried them deep within her. Being invisible seemed a more advantageous trait for her. Was that what it meant to be a woman?

At that moment, an olive hit her head and fell into her lap, breaking her uncertain train of thought. Her head snapped up, and she immediately saw her youngest brother Alkaios gazing innocently at Aeton. He, however, was unable to hide the guilty grin on his face. Myrina then pinched the olive between her forefinger and thumb, made sure her father and Aeton were still deep in conversation at the other side of the room, and tossed it back at Alkaios. Unfortunately, her aim was a little off, and she hit his chin instead of his nose. Alkaios kept his face turned to the conversation, but his eyes slid across the table to glare at her. Myrina checked her father and Aeton's attention before she pulled a face and struggled to hide her fit of giggles. Fighting with Alkaios was always amusing though their mirth often gave way to irritation at a moment's notice as was normal between siblings. The latest event happened to capture Isidora's attention, and the older woman looked from the mischievous grin on Alkaios' face to the guilty tint in the still giggling Myrina's eyes. Rather than chiding them as was expected, she smiled. Aeton had noted the entire exchange and now donned an amused smile since his father had abandoned their original conversation and had gone out of the house. Alkaios brushed the olive from his lap to the floor while Myrina attempted to look angelic under Isidora's gaze.

"You both" was all the woman said though it was tinted with mirth and not annoyance. Neither spoke a word, and Myrina continued with her morning tasks. However, Alkaios apparently was not keen on allowing her off the hook so easily. His older brother and father had already left to prepare for the day at sea, and he took advantage of the opportunity when neither man was around to admonish to throw another olive and hit Myrina in the eye. She gasped in surprise at his action before she swiftly kicked him in the shin and ran. She was glad when she heard the heavy sound of his footsteps falling behind her. She chanced a look over her shoulder to see her older brother on her heels. She laughed and turned a corner, trying to plan where she was running so as not to meet a dead end. They used to chase each other for hours when they were younger. Aeton usually sat and watched, occasionally 'accidentally' tripping Alkaios as he passed by. She grabbed the edge of a doorway and swung herself through it, seeing the courtyard in view again. She ran toward Aeton who was sitting on the stone bench checking the integrity of one of the nets, and she hoped he might aid her. She gracefully leapt over the side of the bench and hid behind her eldest brother, watching Alkaios over his shoulder.

Alkaios stopped in front of Aeton though he was looking straight at the face of Myrina. Her cheeks were slightly pink from running, and her smile was so bright it could out shine the sun. He half-smiled at her and put his hands on his hips as though he were angry with her. "Now, sister, you can't hide behind Aeton every time."

Myrina stuck her tongue out at him in reply, and Alkaios frowned at her. "Alkaios perhaps you should push our beloved brother aside and come get me. Unless you're afraid that is," she taunted expertly from years of past experience.

"Don't bring Aeton into the matter, Myrina. It was not he who kicked me and fled," Alkaios shot back.

"Yes, but Aeton is protecting me," Myrina pointed out matter-of-factly. "He is on my side."

Alkaios then turned his attention to the quiet Aeton as if to silently ask for his aid. "Women need the protection of men because they are too weak to do so themselves," Aeton answered Alkaios' questioning eyes. "You would do well to remember that before you go chasing after her again."

Alkaios' eyes hardened compared to their previous joy-filled state. He nodded his head curtly at Aeton and didn't bother looking at Myrina afterwards. Her brow knitted deeply in return. That wasn't fair! She didn't truly need Aeton's protection. It was simply a game. She could easily outrun Alkaios for hours. She was about to open her mouth to voice her opinions but remembered that it wasn't her place to say so. Instead, she looked at her bare feet in quiet defeat. Her father called for her brothers then, and they headed off to meet the day without another word to their little sister. Myrina merely retreated back into the house with a heavier heart than she had when she ran out of it moments earlier. She and Isidora continued their tasks for the morning while discussing menial things. The subject shifted from the weather to the fish to the market.

At length, they fell silent, and Isidora seemed to hesitate before noting, "You appear upset." Once more, Myrina was reminded of her inability to properly hide her emotions. She had been irritated ever since she returned from chasing her brother, but she bowed her head instead of answering the servant's questions. Isidora moved past her to retrieve an empty vessel. "Did something happen this morning?"

"Nothing of importance," Myrina swiftly half-lied. She could tell by Isidora's silence that the other woman didn't believe her. "Alkaios was chasing me," she began and purposely avoided saying after she had kicked him, "and I hid behind Aeton like I would when I was younger. Then Alkaios said to not bring Aeton into it, and I said that he was protecting me. Then Aeton said that women need to be protected because we cannot protect ourselves. He also told Alkaios to not chase me again because of that."

Isidora turned to consider the young girl while idly wiping her hands. "Aeton can be very stubborn at times -especially when it pertains to his beliefs," she said cautiously to comfort Myrina though it was not necessarily her place to speak of the family. "But young women such as you shouldn't be running around. It's not proper. If you ever want to find a suitable match, you should start acting like the woman you're becoming." Myrina nodded her head solemnly at the truth in her words. "I understand it's difficult. You're still very young." Isidora smiled gently at her then and picked up the vessel. "I should tend to the horses."

"Let me," Myrina offered swiftly and took the clay pot from the other woman's hands. Isidora was growing old, and Myrina worried about her carrying the weight of the vessel when it was full of water. With that, she hurried out toward the well to retrieve some water for the horses. Her thoughts naturally considered the topic of the differences between her brothers and herself due to her sex, and she did not immediately notice the sound of a rider approaching until he was much closer to her. However, when her ears finally picked up on the familiar sound, she turned to see who was approaching. The clay vessel nearly fell from her hands at the sight, and a broad smile took over her features. Perhaps she should have appeared much more demure and composed when the prince of Troy rode up to her, but she was elated that he had kept his word. In fact, he had come the very next day! Her heart beat excitedly in her chest, and she rushed forward to meet him. At that moment she wondered if she had been wrong. Maybe he had been as enthused as her by their sudden reunion.

Unfortunately, when the young man dismounted, his irritation and anger rolled off of him in waves, effectively knocking Myrina's mirth down several notches. His tan skin glistened slightly in the afternoon rays from the light sweat trailing across his muscular form, and his breathing was somewhat drawn. His eyes were dark in his anger, and he barely even granted her a glance though he stood before her. In fact, he seemed to be avoiding her as if her very presence frustrated him, and it confused Myrina. After all he had come to her. Why was he behaving so bizarrely? He didn't speak a word, and she at length admitted, "I hadn't expected you so soon."

"I have not come to see you," he returned immediately, and his sharp tongue sliced through the air like a knife to her chest. She swallowed her hurt at the statement and dropped her gaze to the ground. "Do you recall when I told you my father's horse had been stolen?" he continued, oblivious to the pain he had caused her.

"Yes," she answered softly.

If he noticed the sadness in her tone, he didn't acknowledge it. "I am searching for the culprit. Have you heard any news concerning the matter?"

"No." Why would she? No one cared to inform her of affairs. She occasionally caught bits of gossip from Isidora and her brothers, but otherwise, she was ignorant to most matters outside of the village.

He did not seem surprised by her answer, but he grumbled in annoyance, "I expected as much." Without another word, he seemed as though he would mount his horse once more.

"Wait," Myrina spoke up swiftly. Her gaze finally lifted from her feet to consider the tall man. He paused to see what she would say, and she wet her lips before asking, "Are you thirsty?"

He hesitated momentarily and then decided, "Yes." Myrina called for Isidora to take his horse, and the poor woman looked like she would nearly faint when she noticed the striking young man bearing the royal blue robes. She swiftly recovered, however, and Myrina led Hector into their small home to fetch him a cup of water. He drank it hastily, and it was clear he was parched. She filled his cup once more without question and offered cautiously, "You can rest a moment if you would like."

At the suggestion, he sat on the bench in the kitchen and let out a sigh of relief at the feeling. Evidently he was more exhausted than he let on. She wondered how long he had been riding and watched his every movement with interest. He hid the anger from his voice as he said, "Thank you."

They fell silent for a moment, and Myrina broached the subject gingerly, "You have been searching for your father's horse?"

"Yes."

"Do you not have servants who can find it for you?"

Hector had rested his elbows on his knees and bent forward slightly, but at her question, he lifted his head and gazed at her in evident annoyance. "I am to locate it."

"Why?" she asked curiously before she could stop herself. His tumultuous emotions were easy for her to read, and she wanted to understand their source. He had not seemed nearly so upset when she saw him yesterday. What had happened to change his demeanor so drastically?

"Because my father wishes it," he stated matter-of-factly and did not appear as though he wanted to offer more.

He didn't seem too angry that she was asking about it, so she continued, "Surely he must not think you can find the horse alone." It was an impossible task truly. If the horse were in fact stolen, it was unlikely that the prince would catch the thief's trail. It could be anywhere in Troad, or it could even be sailing across the Aegean Sea on a trade ship.

Hector bowed his head and released a long breath as he looked at the cup of water between his hands. At length he explained, "He knows I will not find it."

"Then why would he ask it of you?" Her brow knit in confusion as she considered her friend whose body nearly bent under the weight of the burden he was now revealing.

"It is a punishment," he answered softly.

Reluctantly, Myrina stepped forward and sat on the bench beside him. "Have you done something to offend him?" The prince smirked bitterly and turned his head so that he could see the young girl around his broad shoulder. He straightened up then and pointed to the bruise blooming on the side of his jaw. Myrina recognized immediately that she was the source of his injury and grimaced at the sight. "I am sorry," she said swiftly.

"You are not at fault," he assured her and shook his head. "My father thinks I was not able to restrain the thief."

Despite his reassurance, Myrina obviously realized she was inadvertently responsible for his current predicament. "I caused this," she acknowledged, and her heart felt heavy under the weight of this revelation.

He didn't answer for a moment and instead asked, "How is your wound?"

His concern brought her a little joy, and she ran her fingers over her dress where she could feel the bandage wrapped around her knee underneath. "I cleaned it as you said, and now I barely notice it." With a smile, she added proudly, "It does not hinder me. I can still outrun my brother."

"Where are your father and brothers?" the prince wondered aloud at the mention.

"At sea," she responded. "My father's a fisherman."

"Your brothers as well?"

"For now."

"Are you alone during the day?" he asked as he noted the silence in the house.

"No. I have our servant Isidora to keep me company."

"What of your mother?"

Myrina bent her head forward and allowed her hair to fall and act as a veil around her face. "My mother passed when I was young."

Hector noticed the undeniable sadness in her voice and offered, "I'm sorry."

She shrugged lightly and wrung her hands in her lap. Discussing the drear subject with him made her uncomfortable. "It was not long after I met you." She peered at him self-consciously through her hair, but he did not seem to know how to respond to such a statement.

After a minute or two of silence, he said, "I must go." He stood, and Myrina followed suit. "Thank you for your hospitality." It sounded so formal when she had only done it because she considered him a friend.

Suddenly, an idea struck her, and she smiled at him. "Will you wait here a moment?"

Though mildly confused by the unexpected request, he nodded. "Yes."

Quickly, she ran to her room and retrieved the pin from under her bed. She then returned to the kitchen and hid it in the palm of her hand while she packed a few small items of food and slipped the pin in with them. She was too shy to outright give it to him, and so she would allow him to discover it on his own. "For the journey," she said and held it out for him.

He smiled at her kindness and bowed his head graciously. "Thank you." By now his irritation seemed to disappear entirely, and Myrina felt pleased that she had helped ease his mind if only for a few short moments.

"If you ever grow thirsty or hungry or need to rest, you're welcome here," she assured him.

"I'll remember that." With that said, the pair headed out of the house, and Isidora brought Hector's horse around to him. He swiftly mounted the steed and paused to gaze down at Myrina.

"Be careful," she advised finally with a bittersweet smile. He never stayed for too long, but she understood his haste. She was grateful that he had come to see her at all despite his unfavorable mood at the start of the visit.

"I will," he promised and galloped off without another word. Though Myrina watched his outline fade away, he did not turn to look back at her. It was just as well. She wasn't sure what she would do if he had.

"Was that the prince?" Isidora whispered in surprise after Hector had gone.

"Yes," Myrina answered with an amused smile at the shock on the older woman's face.

"What was his purpose?" she pried curiously.

"He required water and a place to rest."

"Did you speak with him?"

Myrina was not irritated by the servant's numerous questions. She understood that as a woman, gossip was often the most entertaining aspect of life. "Yes."

"What did you discuss?"

"Nothing in particular," she lied. "He was kind." She sighed then and clasped her hands before her as she requested, "Don't tell my father or brothers."

"Why not?"

"Because I have asked it of you." As when she was a child, Myrina wanted to be selfish and keep Hector to herself. She feared that if she told her father or brothers about his visit, her father might ask Alkaios to stay with her in the event that Hector came by again. She would not allow that. Hector was her friend and her secret. While gazing out in the distance where his form had long since disappeared, she wondered with butterflies fluttering in her stomach how he would react when he found that she had packed the gold pin.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Hey guys! I hope you're enjoying it. Thanks Amor Mio for being my first reviewer, and I can assure you I plan to continue! :) I wanted to do this chapter through Myrina's POV to give you guys greater insight into her character and why she acts the way she does. I also wanted to begin establishing the juxtaposition between her personality and Hector's. Both are sort of poised in the doorway between their childhood and adulthood, and Hector really wants to step forward and be recognized and acknowledged as a man so he has more power and control over his life. Myrina on the other hand almost clings to her childish innocence because she's afraid of the limitations of becoming a woman. So anyway... That's where my head's at haha Thanks for reading xoxo


	4. Only Human

Chapter 3  
"Only Human"

As the heir to the Trojan throne, Hector's days were not usually free. Each morning, his father would meet with him to discuss a new lesson or to test his knowledge of the numerous previous ones. Luckily for Hector, Priam's afternoons and evenings were generally spent considering matters of state, addressing the council, and remaining up to date on affairs beyond their walls. Most days Hector was excused while Priam exercised his duties, but now that he was growing older, the king often enjoyed having his son's company at such events. Hector assumed it was so that he could see how the kingdom's business was handled and could view it as a sort of practice run, but they were generally very boring topics. For example, at a hearing, a man accused another of trading him an unsatisfactory cow for some of the man's chickens. He understood, naturally, that it was a rather serious matter since it concerned the man's livelihood and feeding his family. Still, when the man chose to discuss the cow's udders in grave detail, Hector had to restrain a laugh. His father, on the other hand, always handled the situations so diplomatically and neutrally that Hector was amazed each time. He wondered if he would be able to display those qualities one day when he was faced with such an absurd dilemma as the integrity of a cow's udders.

Currently, however, the prince was forced to use each afternoon to search for his father's horse until Priam decided he had suffered punishment enough. In the morning, Hector groaned loudly and stretched his sore muscles. They contracted mercilessly around his form, and every step was painful due to his two consecutive afternoons galloping bareback for hours about the Trojan coast. In particular, his back was a mountain of tense muscles, his legs were sore from gripping the horse, and the muscles of his abdomen were taught from steadying his form when he rode. Although every movement was lined with pain, he would not allow any to see him appear even the least bit uncomfortable. Early in his age, he had learned to hide his vulnerabilities from his father and others. It was important to appear strong, confident, and knowledgeable at all times despite what he might be truly be feeling at the time. Consequently, as he headed to meet his father to discuss his latest lesson, he held his head high, kept his shoulders squared, and moved with as much fluidity as he could muster. His jaw was taught in his painful discomfort, but that was the only sign that there was anything amiss with the prince. This particular morning, his father had chosen to meet in one of the many palace gardens so that he might enjoy the beautiful day or perhaps he had something else planned.

"Any news of my horse?" the king asked immediately when he saw his son.

"None yet, father," Hector said and masked his irritation fairly well.

"You disappoint me, Hector," Priam said so casually he might as well have been discussing the weather, but Hector's eyes narrowed under the pain of his words. "I thought I had taught my son to not lose a duel, and yet you were bested by a common thief." The prince bowed his head shamefully, and his gaze fell to the stone floor beneath them. Though he had only lied, he had ultimately brought his father dishonor, and that hurt him more than any amount of torture for it tore at his insides from his soul outward. "I wish to test your agility and discover for myself the fault in your techniques." At that moment, Hector heard steps on the stone, and he lifted his head to see Glaucus round the corner and meet them in the garden. He respectfully nodded his head to the king, and the prince noticed that he held two wooden practice swords in his hands. His father's intent was clear to him then, and he restrained a growl of annoyance. Glaucus was a young general in his father's army and perhaps ten years older than Hector, and the prince had practiced with him on a few occasions. Hector knew he could beat Glaucus, but in his current state, his muscles were taught and would not move with the swiftness Hector had come to master. It was an unfair test, but Hector suspected his father knew that. Perhaps he expected Glaucus to win and shame Hector further. The prince steeled himself and resolved that he would not allow that to happen.

The general haphazardly tossed one of the wooden swords at Hector who caught it and was immediately made aware of how his sore muscles already restricted his movements. 'Think of his sword and your sword and nothing else,' he reminded himself, and he refused to show any mercy toward his body. There was no room for error in his current state, and he would push himself to perfection as he always did. He swung the sword a few times to loosen the muscles of his shoulder and chest as best he could and to assess the weight of the wood. In mere moments, his mind noted it was slightly heavier than his usual practice sword, and he mentally made the necessary adjustments to his strategy. It would require greater strength to maneuver as quickly with the heavier blade, but he had already decided that he would manage. Likewise, Glaucus shrugged his shoulders, tilted his head from side to side, and prepared for the inevitable combat. Hector watched him take a few practice swings with mute interest and noted that he didn't place as much weight on his left knee. It could have been an old battle injury that had flared up, and the prince thought he might use it to his advantage if the time came for that.

Priam granted them a moment before nonchalantly saying, "You may begin."

The two men approached the center of the space warily, and Glaucus seemed fairly confident as they circled each other. After all, he had true experience in fighting and had killed many men when at war. Still, he was careful not to allow his confidence to blind him. The prince though young trained religiously, and Glaucus had seen how fluidly and swiftly he was able to move despite his tall, broad form. Speed and strength were a deadly combination if mastered appropriately, and Hector seemed a prime example of that. Today, however, his movements were different, and Glaucus wondered what that meant in terms of their inevitable combat. They continued circling each other, and neither man wanted to make the first move since it was not always an advantage. Sometimes it was easier to find fault in a man's technique by observing how he moved and searching for weak spots could be achieved by watching how a man attacked. Often defense was the best offense, and lying in wait for the ideal opportunity in a duel of this sort was key. The anticipation and tension between the two was palpable and mounted with every passing second. Hector realized Glaucus would not move first and began mentally talking himself through his strategy as his muscles coiled in preparation to strike. Evidently it was not necessary because Glaucus swung without warning, and the prince lifted his sword to meet the blow. Glaucus was bulky, and his brute strength was what made him a difficult adversary. Normally, Hector would have been able to handle this, but he realized only too late when their blades collided how his muscles nearly gave out without his control. The prince swiftly stepped to the side when Glaucus' strength overcame him, and he narrowly missed the blade.

'Great start,' his mind growled at him sarcastically, and his eyes lit up with rage. 'You have to be faster. You have to be stronger. Defeat is not an option.' Glaucus looked slightly surprised that he had been able to best the prince so easily, but his wariness was also still evident. Perhaps he thought Hector was trying some new tactic: make Glaucus think he was weak, then attack when the man grew too confident and provided an opening. At least Hector hoped that was what he was thinking, and that he didn't realize the prince was not one hundred percent today. Luckily, Hector was able to channel the rage in his body into his strength, and each move though painful was loosening his taught muscles. Maybe if he could get past this initial difficulty, he would be in a position to claim victory. Spurred by his thoughts, Hector swung downward, and Glaucus met his blow before he quickly stepped forward, threw Hector's arm off his blade, and swung at the prince's exposed chest. Immediately, Hector shot backward and was barely out of reach of Glaucus' arm, and he luckily had a longer wingspan than the shorter, bulky man which was an advantage that even his soreness couldn't take from him. Hector took the offensive once more and swung up across Glaucus' chest. The other man twisted out of reach while Hector used the momentum to spin on his heel, and he noted out of the corner of his eye that Glaucus was already returning the attack. Swiftly, the prince tossed his blade into his left hand and caught the blow while he drove his right elbow forward and knocked Glaucus across the face. The general stumbled in surprise and seemed angry that he had momentarily underestimated the prince.

Hector's strategy, however, had merely been to entice the man and convince him to attack. Hector wouldn't last if he were forced to be on the offensive. His muscles were already exhausted, and he would use up his strength too soon. He needed to wear Glaucus down. That was his only chance, and he hoped Glaucus would take the bait. He knew the general's personality fairly well from years spent at his father's side, listening to him discuss war strategy with his generals. Glaucus was sharp, but he was too impulsive. He often let his emotions get the better of him and cloud his judgment. That was precisely what Hector was betting on right now. When he saw the look in Glaucus' eyes, he hid a smile for he had been correct. The general charged Hector then and swung with such a force that it knocked the prince back several steps. Hector struggled to maintain his balance and keep Glaucus from forcing his weight over his heels. The younger man twisted suddenly to slip away from the sword, but Glaucus didn't cease his advance. Apparently any kindness initially afforded to Hector because of his status had disappeared when the prince landed a blow on Glaucus' face, and now the general charged swiftly at him. Hector struggled against the soreness in his muscles to meet each of his advances, but Glaucus was showing his true strength. Hector realized he was being pushed too far back, and on Glaucus' next swing, he forced the entirety of his weight forward, digging the balls of his feet into the ground. He leaned against their blades caught between them, and Glaucus easily did the same. Their eyes met over their blades, and they momentarily stared each other down. Swiftly, Hector placed his left hand on the man's shoulder and used his strength to literally throw the man backward a few paces and grant himself some space to maneuver in. If he hadn't, Glaucus could have backed him into a corner with a few more moves.

Unfortunately, the push drained quite a bit of the prince's strength, and he became aware of how his breathing had already quickened considerably. Glaucus backed away then more out of a desire to keep the fight going than a wish to grant Hector any space. Evidently the general was having fun, and he smirked at the prince to show his approval. Hector didn't grant him any sign in return except to take a few steps forward. It was clear Hector would have to take the offensive once more, but he was not in any position to do so. Still, he couldn't just stand there. He lunged forward at the general, and at the last moment, Glaucus side stepped around him. He then unexpectedly grabbed Hector's forearm and pulled him. His momentum was already driving him forward, and with Glaucus' unwarranted help, the prince stumbled off balance. As Hector fell past the general, Glaucus drove his elbow down square in the center of his sore back. The pain shot through his body like sharp knives and fire, and Hector couldn't restrain the groan as he fell onto his hands and knees. He was barely able to roll over onto his back and lift his sword in time to catch the blow Glaucus already had aimed for him. Hector's teeth gritted against the pain still pulsating through his back from Glaucus' elbow, and he suddenly wanted more than anything to break the other man's nose as reparation. Glaucus lifted to swing back, but Hector caught his wrist and used all his force to pull the other man forward onto the ground beside Hector. Glaucus tried to fight it at first, but Hector remembered his injured knee and extended his leg to catch the general behind his knee. Glaucus howled in pain when his knee gave out, and he fell. The minute his back touched the ground, Hector swiftly rolled onto of him and held his sword against the man's neck. His chestnut eyes were ablaze in his fury as he looked down at the man, and though he had already won, part of him wanted to press on out of his sheer anger driven by his pain.

"That's enough," Priam called out when it seemed his son might continue. Hector's eyes narrowed at the command, and he reluctantly released Glaucus and stood from the ground. Sharp pains shot through the muscles of his back with every movement, and he exhaled angrily through his nose as he turned to his father. Glaucus stood up behind the prince and was glaring daggers into the young man's back. It wasn't necessarily becoming to have hit his injured knee like that, but Hector thought it was worthy retribution after the man drove his elbow down onto the prince's already injured back. He hadn't expected it to cause him such pain, but it had felt like a red, hot iron on his back. Glaucus could bear his shame and limp about the city so that all knew who had bested him, and perhaps he would remember not to cross Hector again. Mercy despite his anger clearly hadn't been a lesson the young man had mastered yet. Priam took in his son's furious form with neutral ice blue eyes.

"Does this please you?" Hector asked when his father didn't speak a word.

"You still have much to learn," the king noted, and it angered Hector further. He was a worthy warrior who had just beat one of his father's generals. Did that account for nothing? "You will visit our allies in Dardania to continue your search." Without another word, he abandoned the courtyard and left his son to seethe. Hector could have skinned the man alive at such a command. With his already injured back, riding to Dardania was some cruel, unusual form of punishment for a deed he didn't even commit. In his endless fury, he turned on his heel and roughly pushed past Glaucus to head to his room.

"Mind your temper," the general cautioned for he had had to master his long ago, and he saw a similar fire in the prince.

Hector didn't acknowledge the statement though in his mind he saw himself swinging around and granting the general a black eye to go with his limp. Instead, his pace increased, and servants nearly dove out of his way when they saw him storming through the palace corridors. It was a smart idea for if any had accidentally stepped in his way, there was no telling how the tumultuous anger rolling off him would be unleashed upon the unlucky fool. As it was, Hector made it to his quarters without killing anyone, and he paced anxiously up and down the room. The pain in his back, however, soon caused him to abandon this means of expelling his anger, and he sat on the edge of his bed and groaned as he bent forward, pulling against the tight muscles. After the initial pain, the position actually felt quite nice, and he breathed deeply against the mild discomfort still stemming from his injury. His chestnut eyes considered the floor of his quarters and noticed a small bundle that remained unopened. He had forgotten about Myrina's gift, and he idly picked it up off the floor. He winced when he straightened up once more to examine the pack. Obviously he hadn't felt the need to open it yesterday when he returned to the palace, and he absently tossed it in his hand while his mind remembered their encounter yesterday. He had been short with her, and he recognized that each time he ran into her, he never seemed able to show himself to be an honorable man. As a boy he had snuck up on her when she was upset, two days ago he had nearly tackled her to the ground, and yesterday his anger had bested him so that his company was doubtfully even bearable. He felt slightly guilty for this because she always managed to seem happy and treat him with unwavering kindness. At that moment, he noticed something odd when he caught the bundle next. Something hard hit the palm of his hand through the thin material, and he wondered what she would have packed that would be so unyielding.

Curiously, the prince untied the knot holding the contents inside, and he unceremoniously sifted through the small bits of food until his fingers hit something cold and metal. He lifted it into the light and considered it with interest. It was tarnished to show its age, and he recognized it immediately as a pin used for robes. All at once the memory of that day in the courtyard when they first met hit him, and he recalled giving Myrina one of the pins from his robe as a gift to mark their friendship. 'It can't be,' his mind thought in disbelief as he moved it closer to his face and inspected it thoroughly. Sure enough, despite his dubious thoughts, it bore the royal emblem. 'She held onto it. She kept this insignificant pin for five years.' The realization simultaneously left him surprised, impressed, and confused, but ultimately it deflated his anger. In fact, for the moment he forgot completely his encounter in the palace garden only minutes earlier while he handled the pin. She had hidden it in the pack like a surprise for him, and he momentarily realized how easily he could have dismissed the bundle without ever discovering this unexpected treasure. At length he decided, "You're an interesting one." He had no malice in his voice, and he actually smiled in mild amusement though he was still unsure what to make of the gift. How did she expect him to react when he found it? Hector couldn't be certain of that either, and he simply sat for several minutes of pensive silence while considering the pin.

Eventually, however, his thoughts returned to his journey to Dardania, and he stood with a groan of annoyance to gather a few guards to accompany him on his trip. Though the prince had been riding solo the past couple of days searching through the areas closest to Troy, he knew it was wise to bring guards with him when he was travelling a longer distance. There were always those who would take advantage of his status and seek to rob him, harm him, or hold him for ransom. Having guards would obviously help protect him from such threats, and it wasn't long until he had a small group assembled. It would take most of the day to make it to Dardania, so they swiftly gathered some supplies for the trip before galloping out of the gates and toward the smaller city which guarded the northern portion of Troad. Though the Trojan horses were bred to be strong and swifter than most, the riders still had to stop every few hours to allow the horses to rest as well as the men, and with every passing moment, the tension in Hector's back grew until it was nearly unbearable -not that Hector would let anyone know that. Of course it wasn't always within his control. By the time they reached the city, his back was so stiff that it hindered his movements, but the prince pretended not to notice.

When they arrived at the palace situated there, the group was welcomed by the Dardanian prince Aeneas who was Hector's distant cousin but close friend since there was only a year difference in the boys' ages. Anchises, Aeneas' father, was crippled allegedly by a lightening bolt thrown from Zeus for revealing his relations with the goddess Aphrodite which resulted in Aeneas' birth, and consequently, Anchises was not able to come greet the group at that time. Anyone who doubted whether Aeneas was truly the son of Aphrodite merely needed to look upon the young man's countenance. He was fair like Paris but in an entirely different manner. Where Paris had boyish good looks, Aeneas was the sort of man sculptors used as a muse. Thick golden curls the color of straw crowned his head. He was nearly as tall as Hector, but his frame was the perfect medium between muscular and slender. He had large, bright blue eyes that constantly seemed laced with some sort of silent amusement as if the entire world were his private joke, and he had a narrow, straight nose situated over his trademark grin. His tan skin was flawless and taught across his developed muscles. Needless to say, the Dardanian prince was an infamous wooer of women, trickster, and the closest thing Hector had to a best friend.

"Cousin," Aeneas said with a broad smile as he clapped Hector on the shoulder. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

Hector likewise patted the other man's shoulder in camaraderie and answered, "My father has sent me. It seems his prized horse has been stolen, and I was hoping I might search the northern part of Troad for it."

"Business then?" Aeneas asked with his smile falling into a grimace of distaste at the notion. "Come. Night is falling, and I'm sure you're weary from your journey. I'll help you search for the horse in the morning, but tonight," once more his smile lifted the corners of his lips, and his eyes were laced with mischief, "I will show you our utmost Dardanian hospitality."

Hector chuckled and shook his head. No good could come from Aeneas' "hospitality", but that might be what Hector needed right now. He was undeniably still angry with his father, and his back ached fiercely with every move. Who was to say the Trojan prince when away couldn't enjoy himself slightly? In fact, he felt as though he deserved it after the day he had endured. "If I recall, last time you granted me 'Dardanian hospitality' we were about fourteen, and you nearly drank yourself into a stupor."

"I don't believe I remember that," Aeneas lied with a grin. "How are you faring? It has been some time since I saw you last."

"Well enough," Hector said though his mind was unable to avoid the tightness in his back.

"You don't look well," Aeneas said flatly with a glance at the Trojan prince who even in walking was restricted by his back. "You look as though you've been to Hades and back."

Hector shot the man a glare for pointing out his evidently visible weakness, and he admitted with a hint of annoyance, "My back was injured, and the journey has irritated it slightly."

"Ah… Perhaps I can offer you a remedy."

"What would you recommend?"

"Her name is Dianthe," Aeneas answered and granted Hector a wolfish grin before they slipped into his father's quarters where Anchises was waiting to welcome the Trojan prince. With Aeneas' latest offer, however, Hector's suspicions were confirmed. No good would come of Dardanian hospitality, and he would expect no less with Aeneas playing host.

"Hector," the old, crippled man said when they entered. "You grow each time I see you." Hector bowed his head respectfully as he stood before Anchises.

"My father sends his regards."

"I'm saddened to see that he has not joined you. It has been too long since I've spoken with my dear friend. Is he well?"

"Yes. He'll be pleased to know that you inquired about him."

Anchises adjusted himself and shifted from the appropriate small talk to wonder, "What brings you here, my boy?"

"Someone has stolen my father's horse. I am searching for the culprit. I wondered if he had fled north."

"I am sorry to hear of such a misfortune, but you may use any of my men at your disposal. Unfortunately in these sorts of matters it is often difficult to catch the thief's trail."

"I'm grateful for your generosity," Hector answered with a polite nod of his head.

"Anything for the son of my old friend," Anchises rejoined earnestly with a broad smile. "You must be weary from your journey. I hope you are not too tired to grant us your company at dinner?"

"I would be honored to join you," Hector assured the man. In fact, the prince was famished. Dinner to fill his stomach, wine to ease the pain in his back, and a place to rest sounded like the equivalent of the Elysian Fields to Hector at that moment.

Anchises chuckled softly at such a polite answer, and Aeneas helped his father to his feet while a servant offered him the cane he required to walk. "Come, my boy. I am eager to hear about your father and the state of affairs in Troy. You must tell your father to visit me." With that, the small group made their way to the dining hall where a feast was served to honor the Trojan prince's company. Hector was flattered by their hospitality, and it was nice to speak with his relatives who he did not see nearly enough. He had especially missed his cousin Aeneas and his sense of humor. As a prince, true friends were hard to come by: friends who didn't care about his title or crown.

Inevitably with such a train of thought, his mind wandered to the young girl who Fate seemed intent on bringing to him time and time again. He had naturally wondered if she was interested in his friendship only because of his status. However, she was so earnest and innocent that he wasn't entirely sure if she had it in her to deceive him. Of course he didn't know her nearly well enough, but he didn't feel as though she were the type of person to lie and scheme for some ulterior motive. Was it possible that she only cared about him for the manner of his character? Somehow he doubted that considering how he had been behaving around her lately, but he was unaccustomed to having such a friendship. In fact, he wasn't even entirely sure that a bond between them was an option. Hector hesitated for a plethora of reasons. One that was currently ruling his thoughts was how improper their friendship was. He was a young man of royal standing in line for the throne, and she was a mere girl who was a daughter of a fisherman. It was not that Hector looked down upon her status; he simply was aware of the importance of his reputation, and he feared what gossip could spread if others caught wind of his unlikely friendship. Would they think he was molesting the poor girl or performing other unfavorable acts? The notion made Hector grimace, and he recognized that the innocence of his childhood was waning as he stood poised in the doorway between the boy he was and the man he would become. Befriending a young girl seemed like a step backward when all Hector desperately wanted was to finally be viewed as a worthy man. It was foolish, but the prince actually wished for a battle so that he might expedite his transformation. If he proved himself a worthy soldier in combat, none could consider him a child any longer.

Hector hadn't realized how caught up he had become in his thoughts until Aeneas spoke to him, "Has some woman caught your eye, cousin?"

Hector chuckled and shook his head. "Unlike you, my thoughts are not constantly ruled by women."

"Nor are mine," Aeneas assured him. "I often consider my father's health, harvests, and when we will go to war next." He paused to take a long sip of his wine before deciding, "But women are much more entertaining."

"None can doubt that you are truly the son of Aphrodite," Hector joked good-naturedly to his friend. The prince had thus far had a few encounters with women and couldn't deny that he enjoyed a woman's company though he was still exploring that side of his life. It was difficult to find time to really dedicate to it considering his daily training; but he was only human, and even he had the needs of a man. The thought of taking a mistress was something he had toyed with briefly, and he wondered if one day he might have one or two. What stopped him? He wasn't sure he was ready for such a commitment ironically enough. Yes, it was only a mistress who served a specific purpose, but he was not in a mood to woo some woman at this specific point in his life. Not to mention no woman in particular had really caught his interest.

"I enjoy what every man does. I'm only more open about it," Aeneas commented with a grin as he took another sip from his cup.

"It is a small wonder all of Troad is not aware of your conquests," Hector taunted with amusement in his chestnut eyes.

This caused Aeneas to laugh heartily and clap Hector on the shoulder. "Jealousy does not become you, my friend."

"What have I to be jealous of?" The Trojan prince rejoined swiftly. "Keep your concubines, Aeneas. Trojan women are not so easily had."

"It is well known that Dardania holds some of the fairest women. Your so-called Trojan women may as well be marched out into battle alongside the men."

Hector lifted his brow in surprise at such a statement though the two men were only taunting one another as a show of their camaraderie. "If you are intimidated by our women, cousin, it's nothing to be ashamed of. Only real men can handle them."

Aeneas grinned and retaliated, "It would take a large man to wrestle one of them to the ground. Tell me do you ever find it confusing separating the women from the men?"

"Not so much as here," Hector answered without pause over his cup of wine where it was poised at his lips.

The two men laughed then, and Aeneas made a motion toward one of the servants situated along the dining hall. "Perhaps I can show you a true Dardanian woman and correct your hasty judgment."

"Bring me a pitcher of wine then for that is the only way I could recognize her beauty," Hector commented with a chuckle. Aeneas had an uncanny ability to bring out the more comical, lighthearted side of the prince of Troy, and Hector enjoyed being able to relax and drop his guard for the night. After all, with Aeneas' record, Hector didn't exactly have to worry about shaming himself. Such a comparison between the two could not be made, and when Hector left Dardania, he would once more assume his disciplined resolve. For the night, however, he allowed himself to enjoy the revelry.

Aeneas granted him a caddish wink and assured his friend, "I doubt you will need it. I promised you Dianthe, and I would only grant the best for my beloved cousin."

Hector bowed his head graciously and raised his cup of wine with a sarcastic smile displayed across his features. "I believe I've missed Dardanian hospitality."

"Most do," Aeneas admitted and met his raised cup. "May the gods keep our allies at our sides and beautiful women in our beds."

As it turned out, Hector only needed several more cups of wine to decide Dianthe was a fair companion for the night, but he had no interest in sharing his bed for any longer than such a deed called for. Consequently, the Trojan found himself in his borrowed bed alone with his hands cupping the back of his head while he stared absently up at the ceiling. Aeneas had been right, and Dianthe had worked a miracle on his back, which the prince was undeniably grateful for, and had also granted him momentary pleasure. However, it was the sort of feeling that faded like the alcohol already metabolizing in his blood. In the morning, he would wake as alone as he was that very moment, but Hector had long learned to find solace in that feeling. He was forced to be independent, and he had discovered long ago that he didn't need anyone else. Though it was true that family, friends, and female companions for the night were all gratifying in their own respects, Hector fared well enough on his own -a lone wolf as some would say. Still, it would be nice to have a true confidante that he could trust and consult from time to time. As before, his thoughts shifted from his current predicament to the young Trojan girl bent on winning his favor. He had packed the pin along with the few things he brought to Dardania though he wasn't sure why, and he retrieved it to consider it in the moonlight. Perhaps he expected the token to come to life before his very eyes and reveal Myrina's secrets to him so that he might judge if she were a worthy ally. Obviously that didn't happen, so the prince simply recalled their conversations from his memory and thought through each in turn. He acknowledged yet again how improper their relationship was.

On the other hand, Myrina was so innocent that he felt guilty for betraying her trust when he had granted her his word that he would visit her and had possibly led her on to conclude that they were friends. What harm was there in visiting her once more? If nothing else, he could do his best to explain that they could not be friends. Their statuses were too different, and there was no way that their paths could cross again. He would not be mean or spiteful about it. He would comfort her if she grew upset, but it would be the best course of action for both of them. As a young lady, she did not need a man arriving unannounced to visit her. How would her father react when he found out about their meetings? Better yet, how would potential suitors react? She might have been too young to understand the significance of a girl's purity, and he would not steal her innocence so callously. "No," he decided as his resolution grew with each passing minute. He would spare them both any adverse effects. It was his duty as the older, wiser person in the relationship.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Hey guys! I hope you're enjoying the story so far. I know it's going a bit slow, but I kinda have to set the stage. I also wanted to try to keep the story from going along too swiftly or too easily so that it seems a little more realistic. I promise it will pick up in the next few chapters. I know that in the movie they make Aeneas really young, but he's supposed to actually lead the Dardanians into battle in the Trojan War so I decided to make him older and have him play a more active role in the story haha I also wanted to just say that I'm by no means an expert on ancient Greece and Troy (no shit Sherlock, right? haha). I do research to the best of my abilities to keep things as realistic as I can, but sometimes I can't figure everything out. If that happens, I just go with it and hope it sounds believable haha So if any of you out there are more knowledgeable than myself on the matter, please excuse my ignorance and feel free to tell me if I've got something incorrect xoxo


	5. Sometimes It Hurts

Chapter 4  
"Sometimes It Hurts"

In the morning as promised, Hector, Aeneas, and a group of guards began their search about the northern region of Troad. When considering a map of the lands, they had decided the best way to cover the ground was simply to travel north along the coast, checking the villages and cities as they went, until they reached Apaesus at the northeastern perimeter of Troad, and then they would cease their search and return back to Dardania. Although Hector got along easily on his own, he was grateful for the company on this lengthy journey. Aeneas' humor especially made the trip much more bearable, and he enjoyed having time with his friend. They spent most of the day riding and arrived at Arisbe first. It was a fairly well built city though it's population numbered far less than that of Dardania. As Hector suspected, none had any clues as to the whereabouts of his father's horse, and after they allowed the horses to rest and were granted food and water themselves, the men continued northwest to the coastal city of Abydos where they stopped for the day. Abydos was a fairly large city in comparison to the others of Troad, aside from the capital of Troy and then Dardania of course, since it offered one of the best harbors on the Asiatic side of the Hellespont and had consequently developed as a successful mercantile city. It also provided a great strategic point for Troy in times of war. Needless to say, the small caravan carrying the crown prince of Troy was gladly welcomed into the city and offered a place for the night.

Oddly enough, Hector's current mission throughout Troad reminded him much of the last time he had travelled his lands so thoroughly when he was only twelve years old alongside his father. The memory contrasted starkly to his reality considering how at the time his father had warmly embraced him and treated him with all the love of a proud father. Now each day felt like a new test for the prince, and some days he wondered if his father weren't disappointed in how he had grown. Naturally, Hector understood that his father was hard on him because he was in line for the throne and expected to rule Troad. Still, sometimes the prince doubted whether his father even loved him. Hector tried so incredibly hard to bring his father honor and to please him, but Priam's compliments were few and far between. It was easy for Hector to feel disregarded despite how much time Priam spent on him. There were times that Hector felt less like his son and more like some nameless, faceless entity nurtured more for what he stood for than who he was as an individual. He hoped that once he became a man, he could shed the invisible restraints binding him. Otherwise, he wasn't entirely sure how he could find satisfaction in life when he was chasing after a title, an idea of himself. Constantly, he was competing with himself: the real, flesh, and blood Hector who had numerous faults to his character versus the concept of him as this perfect crown prince who would lead Troad into an age of victory. It was a difficult legacy for any man to bear –especially a seventeen-year-old seeking his father's approval and losing his identity in the process. Even with Aeneas, his closest friend, he knew that the person his cousin brought out of him was not in fact who he was. Part of him appreciated drinking, enjoying the company of various women, and carelessly meeting the rowdiness of the night with his men, but it didn't define him as a whole. It was a meager, insignificant ode to the waning summer haze of his teenage years. That night surrounded by his men with a full cup of wine in his hand, Hector thought about the sort of man he was expected to become, but mainly he wondered what character of man he would in fact be. Rather than considering why he differentiated between the two in his mind, Hector enjoyed the wine and hospitality of Abydos until he forgot the question.

The following morning, they continued their journey along the coast to Percote. It was one of the longest distances they had to travel since it lay on the perimeter of Troad at the northwest, and though they left at sunrise, they did not reach the city until late evening. The ruler Merops, who was also a known seer, met the caravan. His daughter Arisbe had been one of Priam's wives before Priam divorced her for Hecuba, Hector and Paris' mother. Despite this, Merops was a loyal ally of Troy, and he harbored no ill will toward the crown prince or his company. In fact, he welcomed them with open arms and offered his son Adrastus to aid in their quest. Hector was grateful for the addition since Adrastus knew the northern lands better than any other in the group already assembled.

At dinner that night after several cups of wine, Aeneas spoke up, "My lord Merops I have only heard rumors of your talents. I wonder are they true?"

The old man chuckled heartily at Aeneas' forward question, but admittedly, many men in the group had been thinking something similar but were not so bold as to ask. "Aye, young Aeneas. As true as your divine birthright."

"Might you have some advice for us young men so that we can leave Percote wiser than we arrived?" Aeneas rejoined with a wide grin.

Merops bowed his head, and Hector swiftly stepped in. "Forgive him, my lord." He clapped his cousin on the shoulder and squeezed a little harder than normal as a warning to keep his mouth closed. "The wine loosens his tongue."

"In my dreams I have foreseen a dark cloud falling over Troy," the seer said instead of acknowledging Hector's apology. "It is too far ahead for me to see clearly, but it is a grave threat to our shores." The men fell quiet under the weight of this solemn news, and they listened intently for what the old man might say next. "But this is not a matter to discuss at dinner," Merops said suddenly, and the darkness that had fallen across his wrinkled face dissipated in the wake of his smile as if he hadn't delivered bad news at all. "I assume Aeneas you wish to know how many children you will have, if you will be a successful warrior, or if your wife will be beautiful?"

"I would be honored for any knowledge you grant me," Aeneas assured him with a hint of excitement lacing his blue eyes.

Merops considered the young man as if he weren't even truly seeing him, and the table waited in anticipation. At length, the seer revealed, "Your wife will be beautiful, Aeneas. You will be blessed with many children, and the legacy of your actions later in life will affect generations to come." Aeneas nodded his head to show his appreciation, and he was grinning broadly at such a fortuitous reading. Hector laughed lightly and shook his head at Aeneas. He should have known Aeneas was destined for great things considering his demi-god status, and around them, it seemed the other men were discussing their similar opinions on the matter. Then Merops hushed the conversations with one question, "Prince Hector, would you care to hear your future?"

The unexpected offer caused Hector to stiffen while he thought the proposal over. The prince hesitated for he was uncertain whether it was a curse or a gift to know what was to come in any capacity. The men surrounding him, however, encouraged him, and he eventually decided, "Yes, my lord, if you so desire."

This time, Merops did not pause to search the prince's future, but it seemed as though he had already considered it some time ago. He began, "You will marry well, and your wife will be fair. You will be the greatest commander Troy has ever known. You will win many battles, and the world will remember you as a noble, brave man." The old man paused then and sighed as if hesitant to continue. "But the only peace you will find is in death."

"Why?" Hector asked before he could censor himself, but he didn't regret voicing it. How could one hold their tongue and not ask for more insight?

"You will follow your mind and not your heart, my prince," Merops answered drearily, and their gazes locked for a brief second. Hector was searching for more information as to his future at receiving such a mixed reading, but the old seer did not reveal anything further. To be courteous, he didn't voice his persistent curiosity, and after a moment, the revelry of the night continued as if nothing had happened. Occasionally, however, the prince would feel Merops' gaze on him, and each time he turned to meet it, the man seemed disheartened. It left Hector with a foreshadowing feeling that tightened his gut intuitively. Somehow he recognized the truth in Merops' words, but he could not understand more beyond that. In the morning, it was easy to forget the slight disruption of the night when the men abandoned the city and road on to Apaesus the following day. The journey was not as easy even with Adrastus' guidance considering the great amount of distance they had to cross, and there were barely any villages that offered places for them to rest. Fortunately, once they finally reached the city of Apaesus at the northeastern perimeter of Troad, they were granted food, water, and a place to sleep for the night. Still, no word of his father's horse.

On the sixth day, the caravan returned unsuccessfully to Dardania, but at least the northern territories would be aware of the missing stallion. By this time, however, Hector was sure the horse was long gone, and he was trying to reconcile how he felt about returning to Troy and facing his father a failure. Though Hector doubted he ever truly had a hope of finding the horse, it still hurt his pride regardless. His last night spent with his dear friend Aeneas was unfortunately one laced with a solemn reluctance to meet morning and finally resume his schedule in Troy. That was unless of course his father decided that Hector should search the southern part of Troad –which the young prince dreaded more than anything, or perhaps by now his father had concocted some other scheme to punish him appropriately. Hector realized he was being incredibly pessimistic, but it always was easier for him to assume the worst and be relieved when things were not so bad than to hope for the best and be disappointed. He remembered, however, that he had one final stop to make before his journey was complete, and while on his mission, each night for some reason unknown to him he had idly handled the tarnished pin between his fingers while mulling over all the complicated thoughts concerning his life. It gave him a mild sense of solace being able to have a token that symbolized on some level how much someone cared for him. It was calming to hold a solid representation of that when his feelings toward his father, his friends, and himself were jumbled to a state where Hector could hardly make heads or tails of it. That being said, the prince hadn't changed his mind. If anything actually, his resolve had grown with each passing day. He would end this innocent friendship before anything detrimental could come of it, and he pretended not to notice how his heart sank at the notion of surrendering someone who, despite being young, female, and the daughter of a fisherman, could have been a true friend to him. It was the noble thing to do, and Hector was training to be a noble man.

With a reluctance that made his whole body feel leaden, Hector faced the seventh day and rode from Dardania to the small village perched on the Aegean coast to say his final farewell to his childhood. He had been sure to get an early start that morning, leaving while the sun was still barely peeking its head over the horizon, so that if he rode swiftly, he could reach the village by late afternoon and Troy by evening. Once they arrived at the Trojan outskirts, Hector dismissed his guards to return to the city with the excuse that he had business to discuss with a friend in a nearby village. Though his guards had naturally offered to come along and ensure his safety, Hector encouraged them to leave. He didn't need anyone finding out that his friend in fact was a young girl of thirteen. At length, the guards abandoned their liege, and Hector saw the village overlooking the Aegean Sea within an hour's time. He guided his horse to the house with the desolate courtyard which had by now become fairly familiar to the prince, and he noted that neither Myrina nor her servant could be seen. However, as he neared the house, the old servant came out to attend some chore, saw the prince approaching, and turned to no doubt call her lady from the house. Within a moment, Myrina hurried out and smiled so brightly she put the sun to shame. At the sight, the prince couldn't help returning her smile if only because he never had anyone else greet him with such obvious pleasure like she always managed to do. As before, the servant took his horse, and Myrina eagerly led him into the humble house.

"Have goes your search?" she inquired as she filled a cup with water for him without Hector even having to ask. "I was worried when I hadn't seen you in over a week."

"I've been searching the northern lands for my father's horse. No luck as of yet," he answered as he took the cup, and she promptly motioned for him to rest. The prince took the same bench as before, and Myrina swiftly sat beside him. Already in the short amount of time that he had been around her, he noted that she moved enthusiastically and excitedly, and her blue-green eyes shone with some unspoken happiness. It made him hesitate to reveal the true purpose behind his visit, and he decided to evade it a while longer by asking, "Have you been well?" After all, it was rude to delve directly into business.

"Yes," she answered with that bright smile still displayed across her face. "My brother Aeton brought me to the market in Troy only two days ago."

Her excitement over such a simple act made Hector grin in amusement, and he wondered, "Was it your first time to visit the city?"

"Yes, my father did not think I was old enough, but I was able to convince him," she admitted with a hint of annoyance, but it immediately faded as she continued, "I had no idea it was so large, and there are so many people." Of course Hector knew this better than any since it was his own city, but he didn't interrupt her. Listening to her describe her first experience with the marketplace was refreshing for him. "I was lucky to have my brother, else I might have gotten lost. I hope I can return again soon."

"You should be cautious," he advised her in the same way that an older sibling might. "There are always men who would take advantage of a young girl such as you if you were to be separated from your brother."

Myrina's eyes narrowed, and her smile dropped. "You sound like my father."

"You should listen to him. I love my city, but even Troy has corrupt men."

"I can take care of myself," she assured him haughtily as if he had insulted her. Hector decided not to press the subject further lest they end up in an argument, so he took a sip of the water to avoid having to reply. After a moment passed, Myrina asked, "What are the northern lands like?"

"Slightly more fertile than the plains here," he answered and was glad for the change of topic.

"What of the cities and the people?" she pressed curiously. Suddenly, he felt very important before her as she granted him her undivided attention. Hector had not planned to speak with her for so long, but he wanted to. Consequently, he begun recounting his tale of how he travelled to the northern lands. He discussed in detail each city and village, how the people talked and dressed, what the lands looked like, and every other possible thing Myrina requested of him. "He truly can foretell what is to come?" she asked in awe when Hector began discussing Merops.

"Yes," the prince assured her with a smile. "In fact, he told me my future."

"What did he say?" the girl wondered excitedly as she placed her elbow on the table and perched her chin in the palm of her hand. All the while her blue-green eyes considered Hector with interest.

The prince sighed as he recalled his mixed reading and felt oddly exposed when he answered, "He told me that I will marry well. He said I will be the greatest commander Troy has ever known." He paused to smile proudly at that, and he glanced over to see Myrina was smiling as well. "He said I will win many battles, and that the world will know me." He inevitably trailed off as he reached the latter part of his reading which was not quite so fortuitous.

"Is there more?"

Hector ducked his head to avoid her gaze as he said, "He told me that I will only find peace in death."

"What does that mean?" she wondered, and her brow was knit in confusion and concern.

"I asked him that as well," he admitted with a slight smirk. "He said I will follow my mind and not my heart."

"You can change that though," she pointed out swiftly, and he considered her with a surprised gaze at how quickly she spoke. "Now that you know, you can try to follow your heart."

It sounded so romanticized and ridiculous coming from her that Hector immediately disregarded it. The fact that they had been speaking now for who knows how long suddenly became apparent to him, and he reminded himself that he needed to tell her now. He couldn't put it off any longer, and considering how he was already discussing matters he shouldn't with her, it was obvious that this break must happen. In revealing Merops' telling, he had felt as though he was actually showing her some personal part of himself, and he was annoyed now that he had allowed her to see any piece of him at all. Not often were people granted a look behind the veil at who the prince truly was, and he suddenly felt vulnerable and violated. He hadn't necessarily planned on broaching the subject without warning, but the words shot from his tongue before he could stop them, "I found the pin." As if his words weren't enough, the prince retrieved the pin from where he had hidden it at his waist and placed it on the table between them. In response, her gaze immediately dropped to her lap where her hands wrung nervously, and she didn't comment. "You kept it for all these years." Still, she wouldn't say a word, and he continued, "Why?"

She shrugged then and didn't meet his gaze, but a certain amount of wariness weighed down her words as she admitted, "Because you gave it to me."

"You hardly know me," he pointed out gently, and he thought this might be a perfect way to segue into the inevitable conversation he would need to hold with her.

"I know it was silly of me," she said and finally looked him in the eye. "When I was young, I thought when you came to see me again, I could give it to you. I thought you would think I was a loyal friend for keeping it." She partially smiled and searched his eyes for some sign as to how her words impacted him.

"You have been a loyal friend," he decided though he didn't return her smile. A feeling of reluctant guilt settled heavily in his stomach at this realization, but he pressed onward with the silent reminder that it would be best for both of them. "But we cannot see each other again."

Within that instant, her smile disappeared completely, and he felt horrible for how her face fell and betrayed her feelings. Her blue-green eyes widened in surprise at his words, and she quickly asked, "Have I offended you in some way?"

"No," he assured her and maintained her gaze though it was difficult to watch the hurt creeping into her eyes. "Do you not know how improper our meetings are?"

"Is it improper to speak with a friend?" she wondered with a frown.

"When your friend is a thirteen-year-old girl and the daughter of fisherman, and you are the crown prince of Troy, yes."

"This is because I am a girl?" she gasped, and he was amazed how swiftly her sadness morphed into anger.

Out of the range of terms had listed for her, "girl" was the one she had zeroed in on. Hector didn't have the time to wonder what that meant and confessed, "In part."

"Because I am a girl, I cannot be a loyal friend? I am not worthy of your friendship?"

"I never said that," he scrambled quickly, but he realized he had not begun their conversation on a good note. This would not end well. "I am a prince, Myrina. Gossip follows me wherever I go. I cannot risk this affecting my reputation somehow. Our statuses are so diff-"

"Yes," she interrupted sarcastically and stood from the bench to glare down at him. "I would hate to ruin your reputation with my poor name. I was not aware you were so petty, prince."

"Petty?" he scoffed and tried to restrain his annoyance at her accusation. "I am being realistic. I'm not a child any longer. I must choose my friends wisely for their character reflects on me."

"Are you insinuating that I'm not good enough to be among your friends?"

"Yes," he blurted out in frustration at how the conversation was spiraling out of his control, but the minute he realized what he had said, he wanted to force it back in. Her mouth parted in surprise, and her eyes narrowed dangerously. "I didn't mean it like that," he explained swiftly, but he knew it was too late. "I meant that others may not find you suitable."

"I do not need you to lie to me," she spat at him venomously. "If you don't want my company, then say so, but do not lie to me."

He couldn't bring himself to confess that he enjoyed seeing her, so he asked instead, "Have you considered what your father would think, or what potential suitors would think if they knew you were meeting me inside your home without a chaperone?"

"I have no suitors," she rejoined dryly and crossed her arms over her chest as if he were only searching for more excuses.

"Not yet," Hector pointed out, "but one day you may. You do not need anyone to suspect something improper between us."

"Why should I care what gossip says if I know the truth?"

"Because gossip distorts the truth, and men are distrustful. Even if they know you are a moral girl, they won't consider you if there are imprudent rumors."

Without hesitation, she countered, "If they care about village gossip more than the true manner of my character, I have no need for their company or courtship." Hector couldn't mask his surprise at her words, but she wasn't finished yet. "Unlike some, I do not wish to surround myself with false friends."

For some reason, the prince's anger flared up without warning in response to her words. He was frustrated that they were arguing and that he kept saying the wrong things, but mainly he was furious that she was right. Her words made him feel like a coward for caring more about his reputation than the quality of his friends, and he hated that above anything. "You should watch your tongue with me," he warned in a low voice and stood up to tower over her. He wished that she would shut her mouth and not speak another word to him. How had this young girl managed to make him feel the size of a flea with only a few words?

She didn't back down and, in fact, took a step toward him as if to literally meet his challenging eyes. "Why? Will you throw me in the palace dungeons now? Is it not enough to insult me, or do you enjoy making a fool out of me as well?"

His chestnut eyes bore down at her with such fury lacing them that any man would have retreated. Myrina squared her shoulders and maintained his gaze without fear. How did she always bring out the worst in him? He had only tried to be the mature person and do the right thing for both of them. How had they begun fighting? Why? He couldn't remember, but the longer he stared at her, the more his anger grew. "I should have known better than to think I could reason with a child," he growled under his breath. The words hit her like a slap to the face and stung her with a similar force. He saw her swallow, and finally her eyes dropped from his as she surrendered. Within a split second, his fury was gone and replaced by regret for he realized he had truly hurt her feelings. "Myrina," he began softly, but as was his curse that afternoon, he couldn't find the right words.

It didn't matter anyway because she wouldn't let him finish. "I would like for you to leave," she decided quietly, but her voice quivered ever so slightly under the weight of her pain.

He wanted to say he was sorry, that he didn't mean it, that he didn't want to end their friendship, but he simply bowed his head, set the cup of water on the kitchen table beside the tarnished pin, and turned to walk out the door. The servant was standing outside the doorway, and she scrambled to appear as though she hadn't been eavesdropping. Hector paused to consider her, but she kept her gaze respectfully to the ground. He wondered briefly what she thought of their exchange and if she now thought him to be an insensitive, rude scoundrel since he had said such caustic things to a young girl. "Bring me my horse," he commanded instead of wallowing in his thoughts any longer. The servant bowed and hurried to fetch his horse. With their conversation still so fresh in his mind, his words haunted him incessantly. He grumbled under his breath at his actions, and he swiftly mounted his steed and galloped off to the palace without another word.

* * *

In the wake of their argument, Myrina attacked her chores fervently and attempted to distract herself so that she wouldn't replay every word spoken between them over in her head. It, however, soon became apparent that ignoring her emotions was an impossible task, and as she stared down at her hands, her vision trembled. She closed her eyes and drew a steadying breath. 'You won't cry for him. You won't.' The tears had no interest in what her mind said: they were an expression of the pain in her heart from his words. She had never had someone speak so rudely to her, and she had never anticipated that Hector would be the first. Quickly, she caught a tear before it could descend across her cheek, and she forced herself to continue her chores. Considering the magnitude of painful thoughts consuming her mind, she didn't notice Isidora perched in the doorway, watching her with wary eyes. Consequently, Myrina jumped as she turned toward the door and saw Isidora there. She placed her hand over her racing heart, and the shock at unexpectedly seeing Isidora momentarily sobered her.

"The prince will not come again?" the woman asked softly, and in fact, she was trying to understand what had taken place only minutes earlier. As far as she had known, the Prince of Troy had shown up a little over a week ago for the first time, but clearly he and Myrina had some sort of history beyond that.

"No," the young girl said in what she thought was her strongest voice. "If he does, I do not want you to take his horse. Tell him he is no longer welcome here."

"I cannot say that to the crown prince," Isidora pointed out matter-of-factly.

"Then call me, and I will do it for you. I'm not afraid of him."

"You should respect him."

"How can I respect someone with such a slender grasp on manners and courtesy? For a prince, he acts like a brute."

"You should not have spoken to him as you did. You provoked him."

Myrina glared at the old woman and snapped, "_He _provoked _me_. I care not if he is a prince or a king. How dare he speak to me like that when I have welcomed him into my home and given him water and a place to rest."

"You cannot allow your emotions to control you. It is unwise to raise your voice to a man of royalty. You're lucky that he left and did not choose to punish you." Myrina knew Isidora was right, but she was hurt and furious after their exchange. Instead of acknowledging Isidora's reason, she set about her chores once more with the woman's eyes following her every brusque movement. "How long have you known the prince?"

Myrina paused and considered whether she could possibly get away with a lie. Clearly Isidora had overheard their heated argument, and it was fairly obvious that the two did not meet only a week ago for the first time. Reluctantly, she noted that Hector was no longer her secret. "We met when I was young before my mother died."

"Have you seen him all these years?" Isidora asked hastily, and she couldn't restrain the disapproval from entering her tone.

"No," the girl assured her. "I saw him again for the first time about a week ago when I took Aeton's horse. He promised he would come see me after that."

"Why would a prince wish to see you?"

The question was like a hot iron to Myrina's chest, and it painfully reminded her how unworthy she was of their friendship. She had been a fool to think otherwise. Now that she had revealed her secret, there was no reason to hide her feelings, and she found herself admitting sadly, "I thought he was my friend. That is no longer the case."

Isidora softened as she noted Myrina's obvious pain, and she assured the naive girl, "It is for the best. There is a reason princes do not befriend common folk."

"What reason is that?"

"Our worlds are far too different, child. They do not overlap, and we do not belong in theirs as they do not belong in ours." Isidora sighed and took Myrina's chin, rubbing her thumb affectionately over the small space. "It is the way of things."

At that moment, there was a sudden commotion coming from the center of the village, and the two women rushed outside to see what had caused it. A few of the young men living in the village had evidently been hunting in the woods up around Mount Ida, and they returned with an injured man and something else. A small crowd had formed around them as the men called out for help with their injured cargo, but Myrina saw a flash of white when the crowd of people parted slightly. Immediately, she rushed forward with Isidora hot on her heels, and somehow she knew before she ever broke through the gathering what it was: the white horse.

"Keep back! Keep back!" one of the women chided her and pushed her out of the way while the men carried the injured man into one of the houses to tend to his wounds. Myrina saw that he was bleeding heavily from a wound in his leg, and it seemed as though some animal, perhaps a wild boar, had granted him the vicious cut. He was pale as a ghost from the blood loss, and there was no telling from looking at him how long he had been up in the woods.

Myrina was distracted momentarily by the gruesome sight, and her eyes followed the small group as they toted the man away. Then, she remembered the beautiful white stallion. "The horse," she cried out when she saw someone grasp the reigns. "Give me the horse!"

"Get back, girl," the man said roughly. "This is no business of yours."

"It belongs to the king," she snapped back swiftly and stepped forward to take hold of the reigns.

"You speak nonsense. I will not grant you this horse," the man said in annoyance and attempted to swat her away.

"Would you wish for the king to discover you are hiding his prized steed?" she shot back and avoided his gestures. The man paused as the implication of her words sunk in, and she continued, "I am sure there is a spot for you in the dungeons if you do not return his horse."

"How do you know this is the king's horse?"

Myrina paused and tried to formulate some lie since she couldn't exactly say Hector told her. "My brothers," she promptly fibbed. "I overheard the prince asking my brothers if they had seen any sign of his father's horse, and he told them should they learn anything or find the steed to return it immediately to the palace."

The man hesitated then, and she hoped it was a good enough lie. After a few silent seconds, he released the reigns and advised, "Give him food and water. I wouldn't take him to the city until tomorrow. There's no telling how long he has been up in the woods."

"Thank you," she said curtly and guided the horse back toward Isidora who was still awaiting at the perimeter of the mild chaos ensuing in the village.

Her eyes widened when she noted the white horse following behind Myrina. "What have you done?"

"We must act quickly," Myrina chided her without answering her question. "I must leave for the palace at once."

"Why? You cannot go alone," Isidora sputtered as she followed the girl who walked swiftly with a resolved determination.

"This is the king's horse. I must return it to him," Myrina answered as if there were no other alternative. It was true that the horse did seem slightly weak, but Myrina was light. Being that it was the king's prized steed surely the pair could make it to the city before night without any difficulties.

Isidora's eyes widened at such a serious, unexpected turn of events. "Wait for your father and brothers. Surely they can take the horse to the king. How are you even certain it belongs to the king?"

"Hector," she paused and corrected, "The prince has been riding about these lands searching for this horse." Myrina feared that the king might punish Hector if he returned without the horse. Perhaps she could spare him any insult or injury if she returned it to the palace this day.

"I cannot let you," Isidora said quickly. "What will I tell your father when he asks where you have gone?"

"Tell him his daughter is a loyal servant of the king," Myrina answered without pause. Her mind had already been made up though she knew there would undoubtedly be dire consequences for her actions. No matter what Hector had told her that afternoon, she still felt a sense of loyalty to him, but this would be her final act as his friend.

"How do you plan to return home? You cannot journey to the city alone. It's not safe, and the horse is not in any condition to make the trip this day. You are far too brash. Wait, Myrina." As before, Isidora was the voice of reason, and she was placing doubts in Myrina's head and effectively poking holes in her plan. Isidora lowered her voice as she leaned closer to the girl, "This is not about your loyalty to the king. This is about your disagreement with the prince. Don't let your emotions cloud your judgment."

Myrina dropped her head and noted that the old woman was right. This was about Hector, and perhaps on some level she hoped to show him she was a worthy friend. She couldn't even imagine his face when she rode up to the palace on the horse, and he realized how he had misjudged her. It was another of her silly fantasies, and there was no way it could become a reality. "Fine," she huffed with a hint of annoyance as she admitted defeat. "We will wait for my father and brothers. I'm sure they can return the horse to the city tomorrow and take all the glory for it as well."

Isidora sighed at the girl's pride and advised, "That is the best course of action. You forget your place, child." Myrina rolled her eyes and mused that evidently that was her curse: forgetting her place in the pecking order of things. As Hector had so callously pointed out, she was a young girl and the daughter of a mere fisherman. She had no power. With a heavy heart, she tended to the horse, began preparing supper, and waited for her brothers and father to return that evening.


	6. Daughter

Chapter 5  
"Daughter"

At dawn the house was filled with the same ruckus as each morning, but this time the family was preparing for two entirely different tasks. Myrina's father couldn't risk losing a day at sea when they needed the money that could be had from a catch, so he insisted that he and Alkaios continue their business for the day as usual. Aeton, on the other hand, would ride to Troy with the king's stallion and return it. It had been a little difficult the prior evening firstly to explain to her father and brothers why she had the horse at all (her father in particular wondered why no one else took it) and secondly to convince them that it was the king's horse. Rather than admitting her relationship with Hector, she simply lied and said she overheard village gossip that the prince was out searching for the steed and had warned everyone to keep a weather eye out for any sign of it. Though it seemed a little strange how she simply knew it was the horse, she didn't have to worry about explaining herself further. The manner with which the horse was found in the forests of Mount Ida along with the fact that everyone in the village knew the poor man was lying when he said the horse was his own gave her father reason enough to send Aeton to the capital. Although they were only villagers, even they could tell the difference between a common horse and one that had been bred for a king. The stallion for one was a handsome example of the infamous horses of Troy. Myrina had hoped she could accompany Aeton to the city, but she knew she had no need to draw further attention to herself after already granting them the duty of returning the king's horse. She didn't need her father or her brothers asking her too many questions since she was not the swiftest liar on her feet.

"What of the thief?" Alkaios wondered as he sat at the kitchen table and wolfed down his morning meal.

"He is in no position to make the journey," Aeton explained. "If the king desires, he'll no doubt send men to take him back to the city to be tried. I can't risk him slowing me down, and he would probably fight me if I tried to take him." Aeton didn't seemed pleased that he was in charge of making the trip to Troy when his father likely needed his strength at sea. He, however, was silently hoping the king might look kindly on his loyalty and grant him some sort of reward. Also, he feared if he didn't return the horse swiftly, they might think he was trying to keep the horse for his own needs. So Aeton kept his annoyances to himself and planned to make his way toward Troy when his father and brother set off for the sea.

"He survived the night?" Myrina wondered softly. She hadn't seen the man again since the previous afternoon, but he had clearly lost a substantial amount of blood from what she had witnessed. The wound was deep, and they didn't have access to the absolute best medical care. It seemed like a slight miracle he saw morning.

"Barely," her father answered from the door where he had only just returned from speaking with one of their neighbors. "He may go at any moment." The old man sighed and leaned against the doorframe. "That may be wiser for him than being handed over to the king's men."

"You think he'll be executed?" she asked with a hint of distaste. She never enjoyed the idea of killing another person, but she supposed as a king one had to set an example. Fear of retribution was a powerful tool, and instilling that in his citizens was a good way to keep everyone under his thumb.

"I do not know," her father answered though everyone in the room seemed to think that truthfully the man probably would. "Soon it will no longer be our concern."

"We should leave," Aeton remarked reluctantly, and his father nodded in agreement.

Without another word, the men began packing their supplies, and Myrina took advantage of their busy state to offer, "I'll prepare the horses." When no one objected, she hurried out the door to the fenced area on their land where the two white horses were waiting. Now that they were side by side, she saw how they were as different as night and day. The king's horse was beautiful with long, developed muscles, a shiny coat, and stable frame. In contrast, their old stallion looked like a poor man's imitation. The steed was fairly calm, likely still weary from whatever it had endured in the forests around Mount Ida, but Myrina approached it carefully all the same. When she was within reach, she stroked his neck and whispered soothing words to him. In the night, she had barely slept while she wondered whether Hector would know she was behind this. Perhaps it wasn't the right thing to feel, but she wanted to be acknowledged for this deed. She wanted him to know that she had done this for him as his friend though she didn't know if that would even make a difference after their argument yesterday. Still, she was at a loss as to how to alert him, but then she remembered the pin. When Myrina prepared the horse by returning the bridle that he had worn yesterday, she tried to think of how she could hide the pin without it being too obvious or too discreet. She needed Hector to find it, but it wasn't as if the prince would be searching for it or expecting it. At length, she attached it to the bridle and patted the horse. "Make sure he gets it," she murmured softly. "I am returning you to your master, and this is all I ask of you." She realized it was silly to talk to the horse, but she felt it necessary at the time. With that, she attended to her brother's horse before guiding both out to the front of the house where Aeton was waiting. He easily mounted his horse and made sure for the final time that he had everything he would need.

"I should return by late afternoon," he reminded Myrina for the umpteenth time.

She smiled at him and said, "Be careful, brother." He easily read the slight anxiety in her eyes, and in response, he ruffled her hair affectionately as he had when she was young because he knew it would irritate her. Myrina swatted him away in annoyance, but he merely chuckled and set off. She watched Aeton leave the village with the king's steed in tow and couldn't deny how her feelings of anticipation and excitement settled uneasily in her stomach. She sent out a silent plea then to whichever god or goddess would listen, 'Please let him find it.'

* * *

As it turned out, Priam was disappointed by Hector's return without any news of his horse, but to the young man's relief, his father had no desire for him to search the southern region of Troad. In fact, he had seemed a little surprised and perhaps even a touch impressed with how thoroughly Hector had searched the northern region. Needless to say, Hector was no longer in his father's bad graces, and even though his body was still exhausted from his journey, he jumped at the offer to join his father in the king's daily duties after a morning spent reviewing some of his lessons about war strategy.

While Hector had been gone, Priam had received word of war ensuing between their Thracian allies and Thessaly. Evidently some groups from the Bisaltae tribe were settling too far south for Triopas, the king of Thessaly, to stand. Consequently, his men attacked the group with the claim that they were invading Thessalian lands, and war broke out as it often does. Leaders of the Bisaltae tribes called on the other tribes of Thrace for aid, and they were only too eager to answer. Before Hector was born, Priam and Acamas, one of the Thracian kings, had fought in battle together, and Acamas had led his troops to Troy's aid on one occasion. Now, Priam began wondering if Acamas would call on his army to aid him in this war, and if he did, whether Priam should except or not. Troy was a powerful nation with a well trained army and a rich economy due to its favorable mercantile position. Priam was afraid that engaging in battle would only incite other enemies and give them an excuse to attack Troy. The king wasn't too eager for that though their walls had never been breached. No king wanted to bring war to his shores. In response to the dilemma, war was the topic of choice throughout much of the palace, and Priam spent his afternoon consulting his generals as to their thoughts on the matter, so that they would be prepared if Acamas sent diplomats to him. For Hector, this was exciting news. He had never fought in battle yet, and if they went to war, he would no doubt have his chance to prove himself as a worthy soldier. He took a great interest in the conversations and drank in all the information eagerly. He occasionally caught a glare from Glaucus who apparently was sore about their last encounter, but Hector couldn't have cared less. The possibility of war had lifted his spirits dramatically, and he would not let any take that glory away from him.

During one of the meetings, a servant rushed into the room and knelt beside the king. "Speak," Priam commanded though he still considered the map laid out on the table in front of him.

"My king, forgive my intrusion, but there is a man at the entrance who says he has returned your steed by Prince Hector's orders."

This caught both Priam and Hector's attentions, and the latter's heartbeat increased as a feeling of anxious hope settled over him. Since the king and his sons had kept the matter amongst themselves, everyone seemed a little confused that a man had arrived with the king's horse when no one was aware it had ever been missing except for perhaps the servants who cared for the horses. Priam didn't care to explain this to anyone, and since he was king, he had no need to . The king glanced at his son who hid his excitement from his face and said, "Very well. Let us see if you were successful in your quest." Hector merely nodded his head and followed his father toward the palace entrance. With every step, Hector's excitement and anxiety grew. What if it were not in fact his father's steed? Would Priam be disappointed in him again? Hector had honored the gods all his life, but he would never say that he had been particularly religious. However, he found himself begging any one of the Pantheon to let it be his father's horse. The short plea almost formed a mantra in his head as they drew closer to their destination, and he held his breath expectantly when they turned the corner and found the young man with two white horses. Relief flooded his body when his chestnut eyes fell on the handsome stallion that was no doubt his father's. The young man bowed before both the King and Prince of Troy, and Hector was having difficulty hiding the smile that was tugging at the corners of his lips.

"What is your name?" the king wondered after he had considered his horse for a few moments.

"Aeton, son of Diokles, my lord," the young man answered with his head still respectfully bowed. Hector immediately recognized the name though initially he was at a loss as to where he had heard it.

"Tell me. How did you find my horse?" Priam continued as he stepped forward the inspect his steed.

"A few men from my village, my lord, found the horse and the thief hiding in the woods of Mount Ida."

"What of the culprit?"

"He is at the village, my lord."

"You did not think to bring him as well?" Priam asked with a hint of annoyance as if it were the obvious thing to do.

Aeton bowed lower at the tone and assured him, "Yes, but he was badly wounded while in the forest. He could not have made the journey, and I am not even certain he still lives."

"I see," Priam murmured and ran his hand along the horse's neck. The steed seemed to recognize his master and moved his head against Priam's shoulder. "Why did you return it and not the men who found it?"

Aeton stiffened slightly and hesitated before admitting, "My sister heard gossip that the prince was searching for your horse, my lord. She took the steed to ensure it was returned to you."

This piqued Priam's interest, but Hector felt like he had been smacked in the face as he realized what this meant. 'Aeton. Of course. Her older brother Aeton,' he thought in amazement, and he couldn't believe that Myrina was behind this. Why would she do something so kind for him after how he had behaved yesterday? "I am grateful for your family's loyalty," the king said earnestly. "I will be sure you are rewarded appropriately."

"You are too gracious, my lord."

Priam simply chuckled and waved for a servant to take his steed to the stable, and a man took the reigns and guided the horse away. Hector was still stunned by his realization, but a dull glint caught his eye. The prince curiously looked at the horse and servant but couldn't immediately recognize the source, and his attention was soon drawn away from the retreating pair to the conversation yet again. "I will send a few guards back with you to seize the thief," Priam continued.

"I will go," Hector spoke up suddenly, and Priam glanced at his son in surprise. The prince squared his shoulders and explained, "It was my duty to find your horse, father. I will bring you the thief as well." Of course the actual reason Hector wanted to go was simply to see Myrina for himself. He needed to speak with her now that he knew she had orchestrated this.

To Hector's amazement, Priam smiled slightly at his son and decided, "Yes, gather your men while we let this young man rest."

Without another word, Hector nodded curtly and abandoned the entrance to assemble his men with an undeniably pleased curve to his lips. He honestly could not believe that she had done this for him after how rude he had been to her yesterday, but by now he realized that he had completely misjudged her. Even when he had pushed her away himself, she had been a good friend, and he bowed his head in recognition of this fact. From now on he resolved that he would treat her with the kindness and courtesy that a true, worthy friend deserved. In fact, the prince was excited to see her, and he hoped she wouldn't be too angry with him still. He swiftly gathered a group of guards and went to the palace stable to retrieve his horse. His father's steed was in one of the stalls already, and Hector remembered the bizarre glint that had caught his eye when the servant had taken it away. He approached the horse who still wore his bridle since the servant had left to probably gather the appropriate supplies to tend to the horse. Hector stroked the stallion's neck and shook his head as he murmured, "You were in the forest the entire time." He supposed that was irony. He had spent over a week searching the lands for the steed, and it had been hiding in the forest right beside the city. Clearly the thief was not incredibly clever since he had been mortally wounded, but he had managed to evade Hector for over a week and hid right by Troy, so Hector would give him that. The servant still hadn't returned, and Hector went ahead and removed the horse's bridle. The poor steed had probably worn it for the past week, and he deserved a reprieve. When Hector removed it, however, he felt something odd protruding from the leather and glanced down to see the now infamous tarnished gold pin. He chuckled under his breath and removed it from the bridle. "You doubted I would know it was you," he guessed with a grin and hid the pin at his waist as he had done when he had travelled the northern lands.

Hector preferred to attend to his horses himself, and he hurriedly prepared his steed for the short trip. Once the group had been gathered, Hector led his men back to the entrance where Aeton and Priam were still talking, but the subject had shifted from the horse to the sea. Priam always did have a way of speaking to the common folk, and he turned when he saw his son approaching. "You are ready?" he asked as his eyes swept across the small group.

"Yes, father." Hector glanced at Aeton to see if he were in fact rested enough because the prince was a swift rider especially now that he was excited to reach the village, and he didn't want to be slowed down.

"Bring me the thief. Alive or dead," Priam commanded with neutral blue eyes.

* * *

It was late in the afternoon when Myrina gathered several pieces of clean cloth and headed across the small village toward her neighbor's home. They had needed more clean cloth to help bandage the wound, and Myrina had admittedly jumped at the opportunity to see the thief for herself though she didn't confess this to anyone, not even Isidora. The servant, however, now knew of her relationship with Hector, so she undoubtedly drew her own conclusions as to why Myrina offered to help. Despite this, she couldn't have cared less what Isidora thought, and she was guided to the back room where they were keeping the man. Once the door opened, Myrina felt sick instantly. The room did not have much circulation, and with the hot summer air outside, it had become so stuffy that it was difficult to breathe. The putrid smell was what got Myrina, and she had never encountered something so foul. She assumed that meant the wound was infected, and when her gaze landed on the man, her feelings of nausea threatened to overcome her. His sallow skin was more pale than before, his dry lips were cracked as he drew shallow breath after shallow breath, and his sunken eyes considered a spot on the wall without actually seeing it. She wasn't even sure he was conscious. The moment she saw him, Myrina pitied him.

"Come. You can help me clean his wound," the woman said, and Myrina followed her closer to the man. As they approached, his beady eyes shifted to consider the new addition to the room. Myrina couldn't meet his dead gaze, so she looked at the floor instead. However, the woman soon realized she had forgotten to change the bowl with clean water and left momentarily to do so.

Once alone, Myrina shifted uncomfortably before the man, and she nearly jumped out of her skin when he spoke. "I have a daughter-" He was interrupted by a rough cough, and his voice was so raspy and low that Myrina barely understood him.

She wasn't sure what to say initially, but she asked the question that had been burning a hole in her mind, "Why did you take the horse?"

It took him a moment to gather the strength to speak. "My family."

"You will never see your family again," she said softly, "because you did this." It wasn't perhaps the kindest thing to say, but it was the truth. Myrina felt too uncomfortable to be tactful in her words.

"I have a daughter," he tried again, but the words failed him as before. He was too weak to say more than a few at a time.

Suddenly, a wave of sickness rolled through her as she realized his daughter would probably never know what became of her father. Was she waiting for him to return? Was she worried about him? Myrina knew only too well how it felt to lose a parent, and within seconds, the memory of her mother's death was crashing over her until she was dizzy and struggled to breathe in the cramped space. She felt his eyes following her every movement, and she couldn't stand to spend another moment beside the condemned man. The knowledge that he would die whether from his wound or by the king's order overwhelmed her with such a force that her knees nearly gave, and she burst from the room to escape the feeling. She couldn't believe that their short conversation had affected her so dramatically, but she was trembling as she exited the house without a word to the women who called out after her. It had been foolish of her to think she could help, and she should have kept to herself like Isidora was always telling her. He would die. That man would die, and his daughter would never know. She would feel abandoned, hurt, and alone. Did she even have another parent or sibling to care for her?

Myrina stumbled clumsily across the village toward her home and ignored the looks people were giving her. Her vision was wavering already, and she commanded herself, "Make it home." She couldn't bear to faint in the middle of the village where everyone would laugh at her for getting sick at the sight of the injured man, but her body was growing weaker with every step. The realization that she would faint panicked her even more which made the situation worse and compounded her symptoms. Her heart beat heavily in her ears, but the sound was muffled along with someone's voice nearby as if her head were underwater. Black smoke circled the edge of her vision, and the sight of her home felt miles and miles away. The outline of the house blurred, and she felt as though she were still in that cramped space beside the man: she could barely breathe, her skin was dewy with sweat, and she felt nauseous. On her next step, her body gave out, and everything went black.

* * *

The small caravan made it to the village by late afternoon. Aeton kept up their pace easily enough, but Hector had to smirk when he realized Myrina was faster than her brother. She was without a doubt unlike any woman Hector had ever encountered, and he occasionally glanced at her brother curiously and wondered about their family dynamic. Hector slowed to ride beside the young man when they reached the outskirts of the village and asked as nonchalantly as he could, "Your sister heard of my search?"

"Yes, my lord, from the other villagers," the young man answered through his somewhat heavy breathing. Apparently fishermen did not make strong riders.

"On this occasion, I am grateful for gossip," the prince said with a slight smile though he knew Myrina had heard it from him. Aeton wouldn't meet his gaze or actually even look at him out of respect -unlike his sister who would sit beside Hector as if he were her equal. At the realization, Hector wondered why that had never bothered him. He wasn't able to consider it for long because Aeton straightened up with a frown on his face as he caught sight of something that did not please him. The prince followed his gaze and saw none other than the young girl in question walking as quickly as she could across the open area and toward her home. Despite her evident rush, her every move seemed labored and uneasy. Hector found himself frowning as well because clearly she was not well.

"Myrina," Aeton called out to his sister. She didn't turn to acknowledge him and on her next step, she collapsed to the ground all at once. Immediately, Aeton rushed forward, dismounted, and knelt beside her while Hector took her other side. They rolled her carefully onto her back and saw that all the color had drained from her face.

"She has fainted," Hector stated obviously and picked her up before Aeton could even offer. His concern blinded him momentarily before he could realize he should have let Aeton do such a thing, but he was a man of action. Aeton had been reacting too slowly for Hector's pace, and he chided the man, "We should bring her inside and out of the heat." Luckily, he was quick enough to note that he should play dumb as to where the family lived before he gave away their secret entirely. It was enough already that he was carrying the unconscious girl in his arms behind her brother, and his eyes glanced around to note the other villagers watching the commotion. Wasn't he just saying he was grateful for gossip? The prince was eating his words because he could only imagine what people would say when they heard of the crown prince of Troy carrying the girl. Hopefully they would think he was kind and nothing more. Of course Hector couldn't spare much of his attention to such thoughts since he was mostly concerned with Myrina. He adjusted her weight in his arms so that her head rested against his chest. He didn't want her to be uncomfortable even if she was unconscious, and she shifted ever so slightly against him. He assumed she was waking, but he had no intention of releasing her until he had somewhere to lay her down. When he ducked inside the door, the servant was waiting, and her eyes widened substantially at the sight of Hector carrying an unconscious Myrina.

"Quickly this way," she said and guided them through the house to the girl's room. Hector gingerly laid her on the bed and moved the hair from her face so that it wouldn't bother her. Her eyes flickered open slowly and followed the length of his body up until they met his gaze. He couldn't tell if she reacted to seeing him because he forced himself to step back and allow Isidora to take over. Aeton guided him back out to the kitchen and offered him a cup of water.

"Thank you," he said earnestly as he handed the cup to Hector.

The prince simply shrugged and offered, "My sister has fainted before as well." He kept reminding himself to appear nonchalant but not too unconcerned. Being too stoic would seem unnatural, but Aeton was too worried about his sister to really read into anything Hector said.

"Myrina has never fainted," Aeton said more to himself than to Hector, and this seemed to worry him even more as he stared down the hall toward his sister's bedroom.

Hector was worried too, but he made himself pretend otherwise. "Take me to the thief."

The brusque command snapped Aeton out of his daze, and he said, "Yes, my lord. This way." Hector glanced over his shoulder and down the hallway one final time before following Aeton to the house where the thief was being kept. The women bowed to him when he entered, but he ignored them easily. He had business to attend to, and he was completely serious as they entered the back room. The smell alerted Hector immediately that the wound was infected, and he considered the man with neutral eyes.

"Leave us." Aeton quickly exited the room so that it was only Hector and the thief. The man was in a deteriorating condition, and Aeton had been right to say he was poised to slip away at any moment. Staring at the man, Hector wanted to feel anger, annoyance, or frustration, but he was apathetic suddenly. The man would die, so there was no use wasting his emotions on him. He approached closer and bent over to see the gash in his leg. "Do you know who I am?" he asked and decided it was likely caused by a wild boar.

"Prince," the man whispered like an exhale of air.

"Yes." Hector smirked and considered him with vague interest. "Did you willingly steal the king's horse?" The man breathed shakily for several minutes, and every breath was more like a gasp than a normal inhale. "Answer me," Hector pressed roughly for he had no patience for thieves or liars or for dishonorable men in general.

"Yes." He swallowed heavily, and he winced at some internal pain as he gasped, "My daughter."

It sounded like a plea for sympathy, and Hector assured him without a hint of emotion, "Your daughter will never see you again."

His beady eyes looked up into the face of the prince since he had no reason to avoid Hector's gaze. He would die anyway. There was no reason for him to show any respect at the moment. Hector's eyes narrowed, and the man begged, "Please. Tell her-"

"I am not your messenger," he gruffly cut the man off. "You will be taken to the palace to face charges for your treason."

His breath grew more haggard under the weight of his emotions as he pleaded, "Mercy."

"It is not my mercy you should ask for. My father decides your fate." The prince paused and ignored some mild discomfort that had formed in his chest. He called for his guards then. They were not gentle or careful with their injured cargo, and the man cried out in pain as they toted him off to the horses outside.

Hector followed a few steps behind, and one of the women gathered in the entryway said, "My lord, he will not survive the journey."

"Silence," the prince barked in annoyance and brushed past her. The horror on the women's faces irritated him as if suddenly they realized what was to become of this man. He had condemned himself the moment he stole the king's horse, and Hector was frustrated that anyone dared to consider him callous for simply punishing the guilty.

"My lord," a voice called out from his right, and he glanced over to see Myrina's servant. In the wake of his apprehension of the thief, he had momentarily forgotten about his dear friend. He strayed from his guards to address the woman. "She wishes to speak with you," the woman said with her gaze to the ground. He followed her into the home once more, and Myrina was waiting nervously inside. Aeton was helping his guards, and they were afforded a rare opportunity alone when the servant slipped away.

Myrina wouldn't look at him at first, and for a few moments, neither said a word. Hector had already decided that he would be the perfect gentleman this time around. He would say all the right things and make up for the rude jerk he had shown himself to be on their previous encounters. "I apologize for how I behaved yesterday," the prince admitted finally, but Myrina didn't speak or even move. "I am also grateful that you returned my father's horse. I have clearly misjudged you."

Myrina met his gaze then, and her blue-green eyes were laced with heavy sadness. Rather than acknowledging his apology, she said, "He has a daughter."

Hector wasn't entirely sure how to handle such an abrupt statement, and he wondered if she meant it as a jab at him. He quickly countered, "He is a thief."

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at his latest comment as though it betrayed some fatal character flaw. "Do you not care that his daughter will never know what happened to her father? How many sleepless nights will she endure waiting for a man who will never return home?"

Once more, the prince felt like the bad guy and was frankly tired of it. His chivalry faded easily with his growing annoyance. "Murderers have families. Should they be set free?"

"He hasn't killed anyone. The horse was returned. Why does he need to die?"

The sincerity in her eyes disarmed him unexpectedly, and he turned his head away from her. They didn't have time to be quarreling about the fate of the man. He retrieved the pin, took her hand, and placed it in her palm. "This is my duty," he said earnestly. There was no other way around it. "I can't change who I am or what I must do to satisfy your conscience." Myrina's gaze fell to the pin, and a bittersweet smile traced her lips as her fingers curled around the familiar token of their friendship. He had found it, and he had come to her. Shouldn't she feel happy? His other hand fell on top of her fist, and he continued, "I came to give you this and to seek your forgiveness."

She searched his eyes for his true intent, but she seemed pleased enough that he was telling the truth. "Does this ease your guilt?" she asked dryly, and he realized she had misunderstood his purpose completely.

"My lord, they are almost ready for you," the servant suddenly warned from the doorway. Clearly she didn't want anyone finding them alone in the house, and Hector was grateful for her intervention.

He looked back at Myrina and squeezed her hand gently, and there was no time left between them, so he swiftly broached the subject, "I will see you each week if you wish."

Her eyes widened at the offer, and she tilted her head curiously. "Why?"

Hector smiled and asked, "Will you have me?" He was already backing away toward the door, and Myrina followed after him as she tried to decide whether to forgive him or not. He reached the doorway and pressed, "What is your answer?"

"Yes," she blurted out and returned his smile finally. He was gone then without another word to return the condemned man to the city, and Myrina clasped the pin against her chest and watched them gallop off into the distance. The bittersweet situation left her melancholy in its wake. The death of a guilty man, and the return of her childhood friend. She wasn't sure how she was supposed to balance the two completely different and competing emotions, so she simply watched them fade away.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hey guys! I just thought I would point out that the part about the Thracian tribes going to war with Thessaly is totally bullshit. I completely made it up, and there is no historical or Homeric evidence to back it up. I just basically wanted to bring the idea of war into play, and I couldn't really think of any other country that would work considering where I'm planning on going with the story. So this is me owning up to my artist license in case anyone is like 'wtf why would Thrace go to war with Thessaly?' Because I made it so haha. In the _Iliad_ Homer references the Thracians as one of Troy's allies, so that's why I made them allies, but all the research I've done shows that the Thracians are kinda barbaric, warlike people and lived in tribes sorta like the Celts. I think Homer uses the term Thracians to define one specific tribe of the several located in Thrace (like the Bisaltae), so I'm going to use it like that. So that's where my head is at, and I hope you continue reading. Hector and Myrina will have a chance to have a full conversation coming up! xoxo


	7. Closer to Waiting

Chapter 6  
"Closer to Waiting"

Each morning that Hector awoke, he wondered if it would be the day that he would hold up his end of the promise and visit his friend. He didn't want to seem too eager to see her even though he thought of her every day, so he convinced himself that he was not in any hurry. Not to mention with the recent development of war between their Thracian allies and Thessaly, Hector was not afforded a free afternoon. Instead, he followed his father to various meetings where they discussed the power of Thessaly's army, ideal spots to set up camp, and possible strategies in the event that their aid was required. With each passing day, Hector grew more and more excited because it seemed as though war was truly on the horizon. He had spent years training for this, and he was more ready that ever for his first battle so that he could prove himself as a worthy soldier. Consequently, Hector threw himself back into his training with new determination and resolve. In fact at that moment, Hector was returning from practicing sparring with some of the soldiers, and he was satisfied that he had easily held his own and even bested them a few times. It was a good omen in his mind for the inevitable battle to come, and he was smiling to himself as he replayed the moves over in his mind.

"Brother," a voice called out from behind him, and he turned to see Paris warily approaching him.

They hadn't necessarily made amends since their disagreement over their father's missing horse from nearly two weeks ago, but Hector felt no ill will toward his younger sibling. They often disagreed on matters and argued, but they were brothers. No matter what happened between them Hector would always be loyal and put everything aside to acknowledge that bond. Paris, however, obviously was uncertain whether he was still in his brother's bad graces or not. Hector smiled at him and reached out to take his brother around his shoulders. He was sweaty from his training, but Paris didn't speak a word to complain though he normally would have at least made a jab about Hector's smell or something else to taunt him. Hector chuckled when he noted Paris didn't want to risk upsetting him and wondered, "Little brother, when will you begin training with the men?"

"In time," Paris answered somewhat defensively. He was well aware that Hector had already begun his training by Paris' age, but he was in no hurry to begin. It was a commitment that the young man wasn't sure he was ready to assume, and frankly, he was a lover where Hector was a warrior. "I can shoot as well as any of father's archers."

"That may be so, but I doubt in close combat that a man would give you the chance to draw your bow," Hector rejoined good-naturedly. He was teasing Paris but only to show his affection. Honestly he doubted whether Paris would ever join his side in battle. When they were much younger, they would pretend they were going to war together, fighting off Troy's enemies side-by-side, but that was a childish fantasy. The reality was Hector embraced his duty to protect Troy while Paris skirted around it.

Paris shifted the subject since he was a little irritated by his brother's taunting, and he didn't wish to start a new argument between them. "You're not angry with me anymore?"

By that time, they had entered Hector's quarters, and the older prince lifted his arm from around his brother's shoulders and deposited his practice sword unceremoniously on his bed. He then sat beside it and began removing his sandals. It had been exactly seven days since his last visit with Myrina, and his father had granted him the afternoon off once he had finished training with the soldiers. Without hesitation, Hector knew it was the day he had been waiting for, and he wanted to clean himself off a bit before he retrieved his horse from the palace stable and rode out to the village. "No," he assured the young boy. "Is that why you have avoided me?"

"I didn't want to anger you further," Paris admitted earnestly. Hector smirked and gazed at his little brother for a moment without saying a word. Some days Paris seemed so much younger than he in fact was. Hector blamed it on the differences in their upbringing, but his father's lenient attitude toward Paris no longer irritated him. He simply found it intriguing how even though they were siblings, they had grown up so differently from one another. Sometimes he wondered if Paris would grow out of this gentle, immature, mischievous boy and into a worthy man. He hoped so, or he feared he would spend his life cleaning up after his brother's mistakes. "Will Troy sail for war, brother?" Paris continued when Hector didn't move to speak.

The question drew the older prince from his thoughts, and he answered honestly, "It hasn't been decided yet, but father is expecting that we might."

Paris' brow furrowed at the response, and Hector was curious what was bothering his younger sibling. Paris tried to keep his voice neutral as he asked, "You will journey with the army?" Unfortunately, he had not yet learned to hide his emotions well, and Hector could pick out the tones of fear and worry.

"Yes." Hector was certain of that, and it made him feel excited, anxious, and impatient. Clearly, the feeling was not mutually shared with Paris.

He hesitated momentarily before asking barely above a whisper, "Are you afraid?"

The two brothers didn't often discuss deep matters or anything really involving their emotions, so Hector shifted uncomfortably at Paris' question which clearly asked him to reveal something vulnerable about himself. "No." It was the truth for now, and he left it at that; but he couldn't be certain how he would feel when he was actually immersed in combat. He tried not to think about it.

"I am worried for you, brother," Paris confessed, and his doe eyes were large and earnest as they peered at Hector.

The older prince smiled lopsidedly in what he hoped was a reassuring manner and stood before Paris. He clapped the young boy on the shoulder and squeezed it firmly. "You have no need to be. It has not been decided yet, and even if we do sail for war, nothing will happen to me."

"How do you know?" Paris asked and peered up at his brother with mild distress lining his handsome features.

Hector hadn't anticipated Paris asking for some sort of proof, but he was swift on his feet. "You've heard of Merops? The seer?" Paris nodded intently, and Hector grinned down at him. "When I was in Percote, he told me of my future. I will not meet the boatman any time soon."

This seemed to immediately ease the young prince's worries, and he heaved a sigh of relief. "I am glad to hear that."

"As was I," Hector said with a chuckle and turned from his brother to pour some water into a bowl and wash his face quickly.

"What else did he tell you?" Pairs asked curiously from Hector's side, and the older sibling immediately saw an opening. He had not properly thanked Paris for causing his journey throughout Troad, and now he was presented with a unique opportunity.

"Nothing of interest," the older prince said nonchalantly and grabbed a piece of cloth to dry his face. He paused abruptly and offered, "He did mention you."

As expected, Paris took the bait and wondered, "What did he say? You must tell me, brother."

"It was very peculiar," he answered in a thoughtful tone. "I do not think it is my place to say."

"It is," Paris assured him. "I wish to know. Will something unfortunate happen? Will I die?"

His little brother always was one for the dramatics, and Hector was grateful for the input since he hadn't quite decided whether to make the "reading" fortuitous or otherwise. Evidently Paris would die in the near future. Hector withheld a smile as he shook his head sadly. "I cannot say, brother." He looked at Paris momentarily before grabbing him and pulling him in toward his chest to clap him on the back in an embrace. "You would have made a worthy man." Hector never, ever embraced his brother, but it was the easiest way to hide the smile he could no longer contain.

Paris practically clung to Hector while his mind tried to comprehend what the unwarranted gesture meant along with his brother's foreboding words. "I will die? Please tell me! You cannot keep such a secret from me!"

Once Hector had his grin in check, he pulled away and wouldn't meet Paris' gaze for fear of cracking up at the sight. To Paris, it looked like Hector was too upset to even look at him, and he grew more distraught. "It is a fate I would not wish upon my worst enemy," the older prince said sorrowfully. "I cannot bear to reveal it to you."

"Hector, tell me!" Paris begged, and he sounded on the verge of tears.

Hector at that moment thought of something far worse than death for the young boy, and he looked away and reluctantly rejoined, "A woman, Paris. A woman."

"What about a woman?" The young man grabbed his brother by his arms and attempted to shake the truth out of him. Of course coming from Paris, it barely bothered Hector.

Hector finally met Paris' gaze and used every ounce of his will power to maintain a stoic face. "You will become a woman." Paris' eyes widened, but Hector looked so serious that he turned away in confusion. He was unsure how to feel, and when he turned to consider his brother again, he was met with Hector's wide grin. Suddenly, the prince realized his brother had been taunting him the entire time, and his cheeks turned red while his hands curled into fists. Hector roared with laughter once his joke was found out, and this only irritated Paris more. He charged at Hector and swung back to hit him, but Hector easily caught his fist before it could make contact and chided, "If you practiced sparring and not archery, you wouldn't have missed."

Paris nearly exploded with embarrassment and rage, and it was further compounded when he couldn't express it by beating his older brother up. He had been tricked, and now he was impotent to do anything about it. In a burst of annoyance, he shouted, "I hate you!" With that, he turned on his heel and stormed away.

Hector chuckled and knew his brother's anger would pass as it always did. In the meantime, he planned to celebrate his slight victory. It was retribution enough for the punishment he had endured. "Should I have a dress sent to your chambers in case?" Hector called out after the young prince who didn't turn to acknowledge the statement, and he smirked to himself. Once he was alone, Hector continued preparing for his journey to the village with a light heart. He was admittedly happier than he had been in days, and he vaguely hoped Myrina wouldn't be angry with him since he took so long to visit her. He was a prince, however, and she would need to accept that others came at his beck and call, not the other way around. After he had cleaned himself off a bit, he slipped on his sandals, grabbed a cloak despite the heat of the day since it could hopefully hide his identity from any nosey villagers, and retrieved his horse from the stable. Without hesitation, he mounted the steed and galloped out of the legendary gates of Troy and to the coast.

At the outskirts of the village, he slipped on his cloak and lifted the hood to hide his identifying features before spurring his horse to Myrina's house. He made a mental note that if he could find an alternate entrance into the village, he should if only to avoid anyone realizing who he was or noticing a pattern to their visits. As it was, he reached the plot of land and dismounted without anyone acknowledging him. He hoped that Myrina and the servant had not gone somewhere since neither met him, but then he saw the young girl walking back toward the house with a vessel in her arms. She struggled against its weight, and her eyes were downcast to ensure that she didn't catch her foot on a rock and stumble. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw someone take the vessel from her, and she followed its path back into the crook of a man's muscular arm. Her eyes drifted further up, and she smiled brightly when she realized who had relieved her of the burden. Hector grinned back at her from under the hood of his cloak and was amused that he had been able to startle her a little.

"Thank you," she said earnestly in reference to him taking the clay pot.

"You should be careful carrying such heavy things," he chided her affectionately.

Myrina rolled her eyes and assured him, "I was handling it well enough long before you ever arrived." As they neared the house, she called out, "Isidora!" Within a few moments, the servant appeared at the doorway, and Myrina said, "Take his horse." The older woman's face darkened slightly when she saw who the visitor was, but she didn't speak a word. Instead, she brushed past them to tend to his horse as she always did. Hector couldn't decipher what the brief look she gave him meant, but he shrugged it off without another thought. After they entered the kitchen, Myrina motioned for him to place the vessel on the table while she poured him a cup of water. It had almost become a ritual now, and Hector smiled at the familiarity of it. He was happy to be in her presence, and the feeling was obviously mutual. He removed his heavy cloak, and his skin welcomed the fresh air wafting over him. It was much too hot for the weight of his cloak, but it had served its purpose.

"Have you been well since I last saw you? I remember you fainting," he said after he had taken a long sip of water to cool his throat, and he wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm.

Myrina blushed slightly at the memory. "Yes." She didn't offer anything further though clearly there was more to say on the subject.

"We did not have the time to discuss it," he pointed out in an attempt to draw more information from her. "Were you feeling ill?"

She grew quiet and didn't look at Hector for a moment. "I saw the thief," she finally confessed.

The admission made much more sense to Hector. The man had been very sick as he recalled, and with the infected wound, he could understand it making her feel ill enough to faint. "It was a difficult sight," he offered to be polite. Honestly, he hadn't given another thought to the thief since he had returned him to the city, but Myrina was younger than him and more impressionable.

"It was not him," she corrected swiftly in case he thought she was too weak to see a sick man. "I mean partly it was," she amended once more. Her hands wrung in her lap as she remembered him and the emotions that had overwhelmed him that day. "I cannot forget his words."

"You spoke with him?" Hector asked and was surprised by her obvious discomfort with the topic.

"Only for a moment."

"What did he say to distress you?" His brow furrowed slightly, and he wondered if the man had mentioned something inappropriate to his young friend. The thought angered him.

"He tried to tell me about his daughter and his family." She closed her eyes against the memory, and her voice was weighed down by her sadness. "I realize he was a thief and guilty, but he was so concerned about his daughter. I began wondering if she would ever know what fate befell her father. Was she alone? Did she have anyone else to care for her? Was she a child?" Myrina caught herself before she began rambling and admitted, "I could not sleep after you took him."

Hector had indirectly caused her anguish, and he accepted some guilt for that. However, he didn't see why she was so affected by it. "He was a thief, Myrina," the prince said frankly. "He acted of his own accord, and he knew what the consequences of his actions were. If he truly cared for his daughter, he should have considered what would become of her before stealing the king's horse."

"I know that," she rejoined, but it was clear that knowledge didn't give her any peace of mind. "What if he hoped to sell the horse so that he could feed his family?" Finally her blue-green eyes met his gaze, but he was unreadable to her. "Would you sacrifice your morality if it meant caring for your family?"

Hector had never considered such a question, and he was uncomfortable with it. It was too personal, and he found himself falling back on his years of polite responses to deflect it. "I hope the gods never curse me with that decision." His guard was up, and Myrina noticed it right away though she didn't immediately know how to acknowledge it.

Instead, she asked, "How did he die? Was it swift?"

'No,' his mind answered, but he wouldn't reveal such a thing when it would only upset her more. "We should not discuss these matters."

"Why not?"

"It is improper to discuss a man's death with a young woman such as you," he responded easily. He was reminded of his resolve that he would be the perfect gentleman around her from now on, and at that moment, he was pleased with his own courtesy.

"A young woman like me?" she countered with a hint of annoyance. She despised when anyone used her gender as an excuse. It was already the crux she carried around daily with her, and she didn't need him presenting it before her as if she was unaware of how it limited every single thing in her life. Her eyes narrowed, and she wondered, "Do your thoughtless words not bother you when you speak them aloud?"

Her response completely caught Hector off guard since he assumed he was behaving well. In fact for a moment he gazed at her to see if she were jesting. The mild annoyance in her eyes convinced him otherwise. "Have I said something offensive?" It was an honest question, and his eyes spoke of his bewilderment at her reaction.

"Yes," she answered swiftly.

"Tell me what I have said," he encouraged her while reviewing his own words over in his mind and searching for some fault in them.

"You assume that I am like every other woman and am in dire need of your help and protection."

His eyes widened, and he tried to figure out how she drew that meaning from the few words they had exchanged. He was completely confused and at length pointed out, "But you are like other women." He had no idea what else he could say.

She looked down at her joined hands in her lap and wondered, 'Does he realize what he just said? How dense can he be?' "You don't know me well enough, Hector, to make that assumption," She decided quietly.

"You don't want to be like other women?" Hector asked. What woman would not want to be treated as a woman is to be treated? This new subject didn't make sense to him, and he was scrambling to simultaneously maintain the conversation and translate her words into something he could comprehend.

"No," She answered simply and was obviously not burdened by their conversation as he was. "You assume I cannot handle discussing a man's death, but you forget I endured my mother's death as a child."

Hector couldn't have anticipated how his flippant courtesy would come back to haunt him, and he honestly felt as though she were picking a fight with him by finding some hidden meaning in his words that didn't exist. Of course he had never insinuated she couldn't handle the topic of death. He simply meant it wasn't an appropriate subject to discuss. The longer he considered it, the more he wondered if she were trying to anger him. She had an ability to provoke him unlike any other, and it was likely caused by the two completely different sides of her that Hector saw. On one hand she came off as naive and inexperienced, but then she would say things that made him think she was far more intelligent, capable, calculating even than she let on. In these cases, he didn't know what to make of her, what to expect from her, or how to handle it. Consequently, he grew irritated. "You know I did not mean that," he accused with his temper flaring somewhat. "Why do you assume things about others but grow angry when others assume things about you?"

She hadn't expected him to point out the flaw in her logic, and she took an embarrassed breath before admitting, "I suppose it is a bit hypocritical of me."

Hector backed off once she acknowledged her mistake and mentally chided himself for allowing his anger to show. He shouldn't be so brash with her. "Perhaps I should have been more cautious with my words," he said and had to bite back his pride as he spoke them. It wasn't an easy task yet for the prince.

Without warning, she snapped, "Stop."

The prince's brow furrowed in confusion once more. Could he say nothing right? "What?"

"Stop whatever it is you're doing. I don't care for it," she clarified without hesitation.

"I don't understand."

"You are not yourself," she said flatly.

"I am myself. I do not know who else I could be," he answered, but he was having difficulty maintaining the polite tone of his voice. In that moment she was simultaneously insulting, confusing, and irritating, and he was growing exhausted of their conversation. It was less like talking and more like battle. How did they always end up quarreling?

Myrina's lips pressed into a thin line while she considered him. At length, she explained, "If you're angry, then be angry. If you're happy, then be happy. If you're sad…" She realized she had already made her point clear, but part of her wanted to ramble on now that she had gotten started. Instead, she finished earnestly, "You do not need to pretend with me. I don't like it."

Her words completely took Hector off guard and disarmed him for the second time that day. In fact, the prince was left speechless in the wake of her blunt honesty. After several minutes of tense silence passed, he gathered his wits about him and challenged, "You think you know who I am?"

She shrugged. "I suppose I don't completely, but I know you are not this. I would rather have you angry and calling me a child than this."

"I am being courteous," he pointed out in annoyance.

She smiled when she realized he was getting slightly irritated with her. "Perhaps you are not the courteous type."

"Do not presume to tell me-" He stopped himself mid-sentence as he realized his frustration was showing, but Myrina merely grinned up at him. Though confused, the prince smirked at the irony and admitted, "I suppose I am not as courteous as I thought. You bring out the worst in me."

"Why do you assume it is the worst?" she countered.

"I should not be so short," he explained, but it sounded more as if he were reciting a lesson to himself than a true expression of what he thought and felt.

Myrina swiftly cut him off, "You shouldn't try to hide who you are. That is absurd."

"Are you insinuating that I am a short-tempered man?"

"Among other things," she taunted gently with a light laugh.

Hector shook his head in bewildered amusement as he considered the girl smiling up at him and tried to understand how she could be so forward with him. It was completely foreign behavior to him when he had been raised in the palace where everyone bit their tongue, spoke deliberately, and chose each word wisely. Myrina seemed as though she blurted out whatever came to her mind and expected Hector to do the same. He had been taught to mask his true emotions and thoughts, and yet she was calling for him to drop his guard. Honestly, the possibility of being able to speak freely was alluring to the prince. Perhaps he had finally found someone he could confide in, but a greater part of him feared such a close bond. He was accustomed to standing on his own and shouldering his burdens without a word to betray his discomfort. He wasn't sure he could be that open with someone, and furthermore, he wasn't certain if he could allow someone to be that close to him. She was so innocent and earnest as she smiled up at him without fear. The young girl before him pushed him beyond his boundaries in a way that he had never experienced, and he found himself hesitating at the edge of his comfort zone as if he were poised to jump but still apprehensive. Maybe he could try. All these thoughts swirled through his head within mere minutes, and he finally parted his lips to speak, "I may go to war."

The simple words wiped the smile off her face, and she dropped her gaze as she processed the complicated emotions arising in her from that statement. She wasn't sure what question out of the plethora now popping up in her mind to voice first. At length, she asked, "Troy is at war?" She felt completely ignorant asking it, but she honestly didn't know the answer.

"No," he assured her with a slight smile. "Not yet in any case. Our allies from Thrace are at war, and they may call on Troy's army any day." Her face was unreadable to Hector, but he stared intently at her to assess how she was taking the news. He tried to convince himself that no matter what topic her inevitable questions may concern, he would try to answer them honestly.

"But the king has not yet decided?" she continued as if she needed him to reaffirm it. Rather than answering, he simply nodded. Then she asked a question he didn't expect, "Have you ever killed anyone?"

Remembering his pact to be honest, he said, "No." Inwardly, he was wondering how she always managed to surprise him. He wasn't accustomed to it. Normally he knew what behavior and words to expect from a person. Clearly not Myrina -at least not yet, but he would learn quickly.

"Do you want to go to war?"

"Yes." Her face still didn't give him a hint as to her emotions, and it bothered him. He wished he could know what she was thinking. It felt like blindly walking into a dark room without any light to guide him.

"Are you afraid to die?"

Once more it was a question he hadn't anticipated, and he was forced to think it over for a moment. Part of him would be proud to die for his country. It was an honorable death, but he was still young. He didn't want to die before he was able to experience all the parts of life that accompanied being a man: finding glory in battle, marrying well, and having children among other things. "I do not know," he finally decided, and she fell silent to no doubt pick out her next question. However, Hector asked one of his own before she could speak, "What are you thinking?" If they were to be honest with one another, she should open up to him as well. Not to mention Hector felt a hint of relief when the attention was drawn from him.

She mulled the question over momentarily. "I am wondering what you're feeling right now," she said with a slight laugh since they were clearly thinking the same thing about each other. "I wonder what it must feel like to know you may be going to war. I wonder what you'll see. I hope you won't be harmed." Her thoughts drew her in again, and she paused to reflect on them. Hector didn't move to speak because honestly he wasn't sure how to respond. Her gaze finally met his, and her blue-green eyes betrayed her tumultuous emotions. "If I were in your position, I would be afraid."

"I have trained for this moment for years," he said then though he wasn't entirely sure why. He felt slightly awkward trying to open up to someone, and he chose not to consider what that said about his character.

"Does training appease your fear?" she wondered sincerely.

He took a moment to consider it before he said, "Yes. In the way that I feel prepared. I have studied combat and strategy." At the mention, he began thinking over his life's lessons, but Myrina soon interrupted his thoughts.

"You are meant to be the greatest commander of Troy," she pointed out while a slight smile.

Hector easily returned her smile, and the gentle quip shifted the emotion in the room. He found it easier to be earnest without the tense weight of unspoken words in the room, and he admitted, "I only hope I can live up to such a fate."

"Why wouldn't you? You said yourself you have been training for years. Who else could lead the army if not you?"

She stated it simply, and her logic was so easy that it gave Hector a sense of comfort. It seemed so obvious and natural. Of course he would be the greatest commander. Who else could it be? He smiled wider in amusement, but as he noted his empty cup of water, he realized he had sat and spoken with her for a long time. He needed to return to the palace before dinner lest his father ask where he had been and find out about his visit to the village. "I must return now," he said and was somewhat sad to leave his friend when they were finally having a conversation that didn't involve raised voices or caustic words. He had discovered that it was nice to speak with her, and he enjoyed her company.

"Would you like the pin?" she asked when they stood from the bench. They had an odd habit of passing it back and forth between them, and she wondered if it might grant him a feeling of peace to hold it during this stressful time like the pin had done for her when she was a child.

"No," he assured her with a grin. "I did give it you, but you keep returning it. Is it not to your liking?"

He was teasing her, and Myrina was beginning to realize it was his way of showing affection. Luckily, she had years of experience from her two older brothers and considered throwing back some quip. Instead, she chose sincerity and murmured softly, "I cherish it more than anything."

"Then you should keep it." He was pleased at the glimpse inside her mind, and already he felt as if he were understanding her complexity. It was not nearly to the degree that he could anticipate what she would do or say, but he had sense that he was gaining his bearings with her. He slipped on his cloak once more and drew the hood as they stepped outside. Isidora conveniently happened to be attending some chore directly outside the doorway, and Myrina shot her a look since the old woman was clearly eavesdropping. Without either asking, she turned to retrieve the prince's horse for him, and the pair were granted a final few minutes together.

"Will I see you again soon?" Myrina asked to break the silence that had fallen between them.

"I cannot promise you that it will be soon, but I will visit you again. Now that war is on the horizon, my days are not very free." He was being honest, and he was enjoying how it felt to simply say the truth without wondering how it would sound leaving his lips. It was liberating. Even if it wasn't what she wanted to hear, she accepted his earnest words better than when he tried to be polite and proper.

"I understand," she assured him with a slight smile. Isidora returned by that time, and Hector mounted his steed. He didn't wish to linger in front of the house where others could take notice of him. He nodded his farewell rather than speaking a word and swiftly galloped away, leaving Myrina and Isidora to watch after him. As usual, he didn't turn to look back at her.

"You should be careful," Isidora spoke up suddenly, and Myrina glanced at her with mild confusion lacing her eyes.

"Of what?"

"No good will come of this," the older woman warned and frowned. Myrina wasn't following, and Isidora clarified, "Princes do not befriend common folk."

Myrina was annoyed by her words as if she were omniscient and could see what the future held. "He is my friend. There is no need to be dramatic."

"This won't end well," Isidora pressed, and she seemed to be warning Myrina against something which irritated the girl. She disliked when people tried to protect her from things like she was incapable of making her own decisions or too ignorant to understand matters.

"What do you know?" Myrina snapped back.

"Heed my words, child. This is dangerous ground you are treading. Be wary." Myrina was too angry to spend another moment beside the servant and turned from her to storm inside. She couldn't escape Isidora's words, however, which swirled around in her head and gave her a sense of foreboding.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Hey lovies! I just thought I would share something bizarre that happened to me today. I got writer's block... in the middle of the conversation between Myrina & Hector, and I do literally mean in the middle of a sentence. Apparently my muse is narcoleptic. Go figure ;) On a side note, I have more chapters than this written which is why it's taking me awhile to update. For some bizarre reason, inspiration is coming to me out of sequence to where I have rough chapters/scenes written that will be applicable later in the story. It is possibly the most inefficient way ever to write, but that's how my brain has decided to work. So sorry if there are long delays. At some point I'll catch up, and then probably upload 5 chapters on one day haha Coming up: Will Troy go to war? Will Hector & Myrina stop arguing so damn much? Will Isidora tattle about Myrina's secret days with the prince? :P


	8. Call to Arms

Chapter 7  
"Call to Arms"

Days passed by without any developments on the war front. Consequently, discussions of war fizzled out, and everyone began thinking that Acamas and the other Thracian kings would not call on Troy for aid. Hector attempted to pretend that he wasn't disappointed, but the prospect of battle had been exciting for him. Though peace was good for Troy, it was somewhat boring for Hector. Why was he taught to fight when he had yet to truly utilize his skills? He had heard numerous accounts that the eldest Trojan prince would make a fine soldier, but now he doubted he would even be given the opportunity to test such a theory. While Hector and the generals grew less and less concerned about the foreign war with each passing day, Priam seemed tense still as if he could read what was awaiting them on the horizon.

Then five days after seeing Myrina, the inevitable happened. Hector was in the stable tending to his horses when a servant rushed in and said his father was calling for Hector to join him immediately in the throne hall. Without hesitation, Hector dropped what he was doing for he realized his father would not call on him this late in the afternoon without an important purpose. He widened his stride in anticipation to speed his way through the corridors until he came to the grand hall and saw his father seated upon his throne with three foreign men standing before him. Glaucus and several of his father's generals were gathered as well, and the conversation momentarily paused as everyone took stock of their new addition. Somehow without even hearing a word of what had been spoken thus far, Hector knew what this was, and his heart raced excitedly beneath his chest.

"This is my eldest son, Hector," Priam introduced when the young man approached, and the three foreigners bowed their heads respectfully to him. In turn Priam explained, "Acamas has sent his emissaries to discuss our possible participation in this war." When his suspicions were confirmed, Hector had a million questions, but he took his seat to the right of his father and waited to hear their plea before he voiced a single one. "Continue," Priam commanded with a careless wave of his hand.

One of the diplomats spoke up, "We can defeat the Thessalian army. Already our troops have begun reclaiming the lands lost to Thessaly in their initial strike… But there is word that King Triopas has called on the Aetolians to help rid his lands of our kind. If Thoas joins him and leads his army against our forces, we cannot defeat both. That is why our king now turns to you, my lord. Troy has the finest archers in the world, and they say your men are trained unlike any other soldiers. With your aid, we can end this war in months rather than years and with significantly less losses."

"What need does Troy have to go to war with Thessaly or Aetolia? I have no desire to make enemies in Greece without reason," Priam countered immediately.

"My king asks that you remember your common alliance and come to the aid of his forces as he has done for yours in the past."

Priam was rather hoping they wouldn't use that excuse so soon, but diplomats always were well trained in all the various ways to pressure, coerce, or charm a leader into doing their king's will. "Acamas did come to Troy's aid when we were in need, but you have brought me assumptions and theories. Do you have any proof that Triopas has even gone to Thoas? I won't have my army travel all the way across the Aegean to Greece on a suspicion."

"Of course not, my lord," the diplomat rejoined swiftly. "During battle, our forces were able to take prisoners. Several of the Thessalians claim Triopas has spoken with Thoas. We do not know whether the Aetolian king will join them or stay out of the war."

Evidently Thoas and Priam were in a very similar position, asked to join a war they had no place in. "And yet you expect that I will command my army to sail across the sea without the proper knowledge of affairs in Thessaly? What if Thoas does not join the fight? Troy will be in a war that is unnecessary. I know the Thracian forces are strong enough without our help to defeat Thessaly."

"My lord-"

"When you have evidence of Aetolia's involvement, you may ask for Troy's help," Priam interrupted with a hint of annoyance, and he hoped that this would be the last of their effort for now.

A different diplomat stepped forward and bowed low to show his respect as he pressed, "My lord, the Thessalian army attacked the Bisaltae's southern camps and villages. They killed unarmed men, women, and children… Those were the lucky ones. We can only imagine that the missing women and children are slaves or suffer a far worse fate."

Priam paused momentarily so as not to seem unaffected by this news, but he ultimately said, "Acts of war are often troubling, but that does not make my army responsible to win this war for you. Return with news that Thoas has led his forces into battle, and I will gladly join the fight."

During the conversation, Hector had listened intently to every word that was spoken, and he was surprised that his father had dismissed them so quickly especially after all the afternoons they had spent discussing war strategy. He had been preparing for war, and yet here he was doing whatever was necessary to keep his army out of the fight. It was frustrating to Hector, and then he heard of the violence toward unarmed civilians. The thought of soldiers attacking women and children made his stomach turn. He understood that courtesy and morality could easily be abandoned in war, but he would never be able to harm a woman or a child. There was absolutely no need for that barbarism, and he couldn't hold his tongue with the knowledge that such acts were taking place. "Father," he said suddenly, and everyone turned to consider the previously mute prince. Hector's gaze, however, was situated solely on the king. "I can lead a small contingent to Thessaly and send a messenger back as to the state of affairs in Greece."

Priam frowned deeply and repeated for the umpteenth time, "Troy will not go to war, Hector. Not without the proper knowledge."

Hector had already expected this answer and shot back, "It will take a month or more to sail across the Aegean to Thessaly. In that time, Thoas could join the fight and the Thessalians could overpower the Thracians. There is no time to waste, father. I agree we shouldn't act hastily but allow me to find the proof you require. Troy should not abandon her allies so quickly."

Priam's eyes narrowed, and Hector knew he shouldn't have spoken out against his father. Desperate times, however, called for desperate measures. "You are not ready to lead an army."

"My king, I will go with the prince," Glaucus spoke up without hesitation. Hector couldn't mask his surprise that the general of all people was offering to help him, but the look on Glaucus' face told him the general was more excited about war than helping his prince. Whatever Glaucus' reasoning, Hector was glad for the intervention.

"We will not go to battle without your command," Hector pressed, spurred by Glaucus' offer. "We would need no more than fifty to a hundred men –enough to show our support without having to engage in combat. Such a small amount wouldn't be missed."

Priam's gaze was intense as it bore down at Hector, but the young prince didn't flinch. On this topic, he chose to dig his heels in because he knew it was the right thing to do. All his life he had been taught to do what was honorable and best for his country. If Troy did not aid the Thracians when they called for help and they lost the war, Troy would undoubtedly lose a very important ally. The Thracians held an important strategic position near Troy, and the brute force of their army would always be useful in battle. Hector felt any ill effects for Troy could be avoided if he stepped in, and it was a prime opportunity for him to stand on his own. How could he become a man if he didn't start acting like one? There were so many unspoken words behind his father's eyes, but the king did not speak a single one. Rather he decided, "There has been enough talk of war for one afternoon. Tomorrow we will conclude our discussion, and you may bring word to your king." The diplomats were shown toward their quarters where they could rest, and the generals left the hall but lingered around the exterior to discuss matters further while Priam and Hector remained behind. The prince didn't move a muscle for he assumed there was a conversation or perhaps an argument between his father and himself on the horizon. Speaking up in front of the emissaries as he had in opposition of his father's will had not been exactly prudent, but Hector didn't regret it.

There was a long, pregnant silence before Priam said, "You are not ready to lead."

"And I never will be until you give me a chance. I can do this, father. You've trained me my entire life to be this."

"It takes a lifetime to understand war and the ways of men, and even then… It does not always follow logic and reason." Priam grew quiet, and Hector wasn't sure how to address his statement. The darkness that fell across his worn features made the words seem suddenly candid.

"We do not have to go to war. But what happens if we don't intervene at all and the Thracians lose this war? What will happen next time Troy is in need?" Hector realized his voice was becoming too passionate as he spoke, and he attempted to regain his composure as he continued, "If you allow me to go, they will see that Troy has not abandoned them even if we don't fight."

"What will you do when battle comes, and the Thracians are begging you to lead our men into combat?"

"I will stand by my word. I won't lead the men without your permission."

"And if the Thessalians attack the camps, will you fight them off and defend yourself?"

"Yes."

Priam snorted to himself as if Hector had revealed some foolishness about himself, and the prince immediately felt slightly embarrassed for whatever he had said to cause such an action. "Do you know that in battle being royalty is more of a hindrance than a help? You will stick out because of your status, and none will grant you kindness as they do here… No. Your position will be a bulls eye, and you will become a target."

"If they kill me, all of Troy will go to war," Hector countered without hesitation though he wasn't actually considering the words as he spoke them aloud.

"You think it is glorious to die in war?"

"Yes. It would be an honor to die for Troy beside my countrymen."

Within a split second, Priam's mood shifted from controlled to angry as he spat, "Oh and that sounds heroic to you, does it? To die fighting? Tell me have you ever killed a man?"

Hector was stunned momentarily by his father's sudden show of emotion, and it took him awhile to gather his wits and respond, "No."

"Ever seen a man die in combat?"

"No."

"I've killed men, and I've heard them dying; and I've watched them dying, and there's nothing glorious about it. Nothing poetic. You know nothing about dying for your country or going to battle, yet you have made a mockery of me in front of my generals and the Thracian emissaries by defying my word."

His father's anger spurred his own, and he shot back, "I am standing for what I think is right."

The king's eyes were icy when they considered Hector next, and a cold shiver crawled down the prince's spine. "Sail to Greece then. Lead our men into a pointless war, but I warn you… Return with glory, or you are no son of mine." The threat hung heavily in the air between them, and Hector flinched slightly as he recognized his father meant it. Then Priam turned from him and commanded, "Send Glaucus to me."

Hector felt numb as he stood from his seat and left the throne hall. Glaucus and the other generals were still gathered outside, and the prince was too stupefied to wonder if they had heard the argument between himself and his father. "Glaucus," the prince called out, and the man turned to acknowledge his name. "My father wishes to speak with you."

Without hesitation the general walked back toward the hall, but he paused briefly beside Hector. Their gazes locked momentarily, and the general offered in a low voice, "You did well today." Then he continued onward as if he hadn't spoken a word. Hector wasn't sure what to think of the statement –whether to take it as praise or otherwise. His mind was too heavy to consider it in any case, so he simply walked toward his quarters and replayed the conversation over again and again in his mind.

His father rarely ever lost his temper, and Hector wondered what exactly that meant considering he had caused it. Did Priam truly believe that they had no place in this war, or was he upset because Hector had spoken out in opposition of him in front of a very important group of people? Perhaps it was a little of both, but Hector couldn't be sure. Regardless, he felt somewhat confused and childish. His father easily pointed out his inexperience with war, but once more, Hector wondered why anyone bothered to train him for war if no one intended to allow him a chance to fight. As far as he was concerned, he deserved the opportunity to prove himself. At the thought, a new resolve grounded him, and the numb shock faded from him. There was no reason to dwell on the past conversation. The things that had been said were said, and he couldn't change that. What he did have control over, however, was his future. He would travel to Thessaly and bring his father glory. Then Priam would realize Hector was ready to lead and fight, and he would have to acknowledge how he underestimated his son. His thoughts steeled him. He wouldn't disappoint his father, and with this resolve, he faced the next day when his father would announce his decision to the diplomats.

* * *

The sun's rays bore heavily down upon her exposed skin, and the cool water of the sea swept up with each wave to kiss her feet. How long she had been standing there was a mystery and not something she spared any thought to. Instead, her mind was considering the weight of the day. Ever since she had spoken with the thief so long ago, a melancholy weight had followed her every where she went. On this day in particular, the memory of her mother resurfaced, and she found herself mourning the loss of her all over again. Each year Myrina tended to have at least a day where she mourned in private away from her family, and Isidora had come to know this ritual very well. She would always take over Myrina's chores while the young girl found an appropriate way to honor her mother. In the past years, it had been going to the shore and releasing something whether a flower or shell or stone. It was something tangible she could dedicate to her mother, and she thought it was important to always remember her even though it made her sad. She didn't think the dead should be forgotten though they had departed this world. Thus, Myrina found herself standing at the shore with a small, meager flower she had found in a field on her way to the beach. Petals were missing, and it was nearly dead; but it was something. Her eyes considered her poor offering though not necessarily seeing it. Her gaze was turned inward to the waning memories she retained of her mother. Unfortunately the most vivid recollections were of her mother when she was sick. Myrina always strained to remember the sound of her voice, the warmth of her embrace, the way her face lit up in a smile, all the delicate features of her face. Myrina fell short each time, and she hated herself for her inability to hold onto her mother.

It wasn't until a drop hit her hand that she realized she was crying, and she reached up to touch the wet trail on her cheek. The contact of her own fingers on her skin felt distant in that moment since she was so withdrawn from the present. "I miss you," she murmured under her breath to the flower as if it represented the woman she was longing for. She couldn't be sure how her life would be different if her mother were alive, but she liked to think that it would at least make more sense. Her mother could explain all the intricacies of life to her in a manner that she could grasp. Then maybe she could be a better daughter and behave more like the other girls in her village instead of standing on the shore of the beach in the middle of the afternoon crying and mumbling to a dead flower. At this rate, she would be lucky if any man found her to be a suitable match. That seemed to be her purpose in life: take care of her family until she married, then take care of her husband, have children, and spend her life pretending to be content with such a boring fate. Perhaps she was being slightly dramatic, but she couldn't understand how the love or romance she had heard about in stories was available in life. What place did it have in her world? Likewise there was no adventure on the horizon for her. When she had confided to Isidora about this once, the older woman scolded her for being so distraught with her present conditions. "Be grateful that you have food to eat, a family who loves you, and a place to sleep each night. Expecting anymore from life will only lead to unhappiness," the older woman had told her. Though her words rung true, Myrina could only think how simple life must be if food, family, and a home are the only ingredients to happiness. Why then was she yearning for something more? More over what did she need?

Myrina didn't know. She instead fled to the sea where she felt she finally belonged. She walked into the surf with tears flowing down her cheeks and mixing with the salty spray. She trudged as fast as she could farther into the sea. She was reveling in the way the waves folded over her and wrapped around her like it was embracing her. Her legs were swept out from under her, and she momentarily went under into the darkness before resurfacing. This was her world: it was unreliable though constant, untamable and gentle, dangerous yet comforting, so abundant and immeasurable that she felt she could never properly understand its significance, and she could only see what was at the shore. Where the sea met the horizon in the distance was as unknown to her as her own future. She glided over the sand at the bottom as the undercurrent pulled her farther out. The waves were crashing over her head, and it was a precious weight to her. The salty water that filled her lungs and nostrils reminded her that she was alive. However, she felt as though she were on the brink of Styx. That the tide might turn at any moment, and she would find herself drowning in the cold murky waters of the Underworld. It sent chills across her skin that the water soon brushed away.

In the moments that followed she wasn't sure what was happening. All she heard was someone calling her name repeatedly, but her ears and eyes were too full of salt water to figure out whom. Another moment and strong arms were around her, dragging her away from her haven. She tried to see who was the source of this, but her vision was too blurry. She recognized the foggy sight of dark hair and the blurry outline of a man's face. "Aeton?" she croaked out in confusion for her throat was too sore from the salty water she had swallowed to speak clearly. It hadn't been loud enough, or the person chose not to answer for whomever it was continued to pull her from the water. When he didn't answer, something snapped without warning, and she struggled against him. "Stop!"

"Myrina!" the man yelled back. Enough water had drained from her ears for her to recognize the voice.

"Hector, what are you doing?" she demanded as he carried her out of the water and over to the sandy beach. He knelt and laid her down on her back.

"What was I doing? What were you doing? Drowning yourself!" Hector said somewhere between annoyed, concerned, and confused. His dark locks dripped onto her exposed neck as he leaned over her, and his head blocked out the sun so that she could see his face clearly.

Myrina groaned at the sight and rolled onto her side. Her sand covered back faced him before she sat up onto her hip and glared over her shoulder at him. "I was hardly drowning," she said haughtily. "I was swimming."

"Well great swimming you were doing. You were struggling to keep your head above the water," Hector countered near a growl.

"Who said I wanted to keep my head above the water?" Myrina asked grumpily while she staggered unsteadily to a standing position above him. She began to walk back to the water, but Hector grabbed her wrist to stop her.

"You're not going back in there!" he told her sternly.

"Let go of me. You don't command me!" Myrina was angry enough with him before he had to 'save' her. Now she was downright furious at how he commanded her. This rage seemed to push away any recognition of the fact that he had been trying to save her.

"I'm not letting you back in there."

"I'm going back in there."

"No, you're not," Hector said finally and took her by both her arms. Her forearms were still able to move, and she swung wildly at him. His arms luckily were much longer than hers, and he was able to keep his body away from her and out of range. She writhed viciously in his grip, and he stepped closer to keep his handle on her. Without hesitation, one of her fists beat his chest, but the prince didn't even flinch. After several minutes of pointless struggle passed, her strength and fight left her. Hector held her a moment or two longer to be sure she wouldn't do anything brash. "If I let you go, will you stay here with me?"

Her eyes were the color of the sea behind them, but the fiery anger in them contrasted starkly to their cool color. "Yes," she conceded irritably. Cautiously, Hector released her, and he felt slightly guilty for the red marks he had left on her upper arms. However, it was unavoidable considering how she twisted around in his grip. They stood there in silence, staring intensely at each other. Myrina seemed to be attempting to light Hector on fire with her gaze while the young man was trying to understand what was going on with her. She was always so happy to see him, but now he felt as if he were getting a glimpse into a whole other side of her that he had never expected and that he frankly wasn't prepared to handle.

"What were you doing?" he eventually asked.

"I was _not_ drowning," she snapped back in something of a childish tone.

Hector bit his tongue and waited out a wave of annoyance before continuing, "That does not explain why you were in the sea in the first place. Shouldn't you be at home?"

"Of course." Myrina laughed bitterly before she began walking away from him and called out over her shoulder, "My only place is within the home. Why would I ever leave it? I never grow bored or tired of my life. I'm perfectly content cooking and cleaning and attending to chores every single day!" With every word the volume of her voice increased until she was nearly yelling at him.

He was more accustomed to their disagreements considering they tended to argue every time they met. He briefly wondered why he always came to her then if this was what awaited him: a young girl who managed to unleash his temper. Maybe part of him liked that she provoked him, and that they squabbled without care. His tongue was never quite as loose as when they quarreled though at the moment he was attempting to restrain it while following a safe distance behind her. "You know I didn't mean that."

Obviously this had nothing to do with Hector, but he was an easy target. In that moment, she was bent on taking out every last bit of frustration and anger on him. She continued on as if he hadn't spoken a word. "I am reminded daily of the limitations of my sex. I don't need you to tell me as well."

"I was asking why you weren't at home not because you are a girl but because you have no reason to be at the sea!" he growled angrily.

"Why are you here?" she snapped back suspiciously.

"I came to see you though now I forget why." This garnered him an icy glare thrown over her shoulder. He smirked though he wasn't sure why. Their pointless argument suddenly amused him if only because it made no sense. When she didn't answer immediately, he pressed on, "Would you like to continue berating me over my apparent prejudice toward you, or will you tell me what is truly bothering you?"

She turned swiftly on her heel and stared down the man who was so arrogant to her in that moment, throwing around what he thought he knew about her. "You assume you aren't the cause of my foul mood?"

That smirk was still on his handsome features when he countered, "You were drowning yourself long before I arrived." The careless jab caused her hands to curl into tight fists, and her eyes noted a pebble in the sand. Without thinking about what she was doing, she grabbed the stone and chucked it at Hector as hard as she could. It was the last thing the prince expected her to do, and the action completely took him off guard. As a result, his response was delayed, and he tilted his head at the last second as the stone flew past his right cheek. For a time, they both stared at each other in equal shock over what she had done. Then Hector's eyes narrowed dangerously in a way she had never seen before, and her fury disappeared immediately at the sight. She realized she should have apologized, but she was much too stubborn to speak a word yet. That was until Hector began advancing on her. Seeing him approach her with that dark, intense gaze of his sent a chill down her spine, and she would have said anything to calm the anger within him. Unfortunately, she doubted there was anything she could say. Myrina hated herself for doing it, but she grabbed her dress, hiked it up to her knees, and ran away from him.

Without hesitation, Hector shot after her, and the chase was on. His mind wasn't considering how inappropriate it was to chase after a girl, or even what he would do with her once he caught her; but he would certainly not let her get away so easily after she had nearly pummeled him with a stone to the head. He doubted she had been aiming for his head considering how stunned she appeared afterwards, but that wasn't important. The only thing that mattered was she was inches from hitting him, and that irritated the prince tremendously. It had been weeks since she had ran from him, and he had forgotten how fast she was. Hector wouldn't let a girl outrun him, and he pushed himself after her with more determination. She glanced over her shoulder at him, and it slowed her down momentarily. His hand reached out, and his fingers nearly grazed the edge of her arm. In response to his bearing down on her, she fled right toward the sea, and Hector was hot on her heels. She ran into the water up to her waist, and he followed. When she realized he would continue after her even into the sea, she scrambled to think of some way to stop him since her strength was nothing compared to his. Quickly she splashed some water at him, hitting him in the chest. There was something about the playful gesture that seemed to snap Hector out of his furious trance when he peered down at the darkened patch on his robes and then back at the girl who had caused it. Noting the shift in his features, she smiled at him, hoping this meant their useless fight was over even though she had started it. Instead of the enemy, she now recognized her friend standing before her.

Hector admitted suddenly before he could stop himself, "You are very different from any woman I have ever met."

This made her grin. "That is well, but you haven't met many." Myrina splashed some more water at Hector playfully, and he gave her a fake glare before barely splashing back. "Is this all you can conjure?" she taunted while motioning to the small dark spot on her hip.

Hector shook his head. Certainly the women he had met would never challenge him as Myrina did. She treated him as a friend and expected him to do the same. He smiled at her now, forgetting his ill will entirely. 'Well, if she wants to be treated as a man,' he thought slyly, 'so she will.' He, however, understood the invisible boundaries. He would have to be much more gentle with her than he would with Paris for example. He splashed some water back at her, getting her neck and chin.

She laughed and splashed him back again except non-stop. He turned his head to keep the water from getting in his eyes and moved closer to her though she splashed harder to keep him away. Once she was within reach, Hector took her around the waist and tossed her over his shoulder. She cried out in surprise but mainly she was delighted by the gesture, and she hit his back while kicking her legs which were now in the air. "Hector, put me down!" she managed to yell through the damp veil of hair hanging heavily around her face.

He shrugged with his free shoulder. "As you wish," he said and let her fall into the water. She screamed once more before hitting the water, and she resurfaced and glared at him. "You said to put you down," he reminded her innocently.

"You are evil." She looked upon him devilishly and pounced on him, pushing him down into the water with her. They both resurfaced minutes later, and Myrina took the opportunity to run again. She trudged out of the water and ran across the shoreline for a period before pausing to look up at the sun. Its rays were kissing her skin and glistening off the water. It was a beautiful day, but she had failed to notice such a thing in the wake of her drear mood. She then watched a soggy Hector walk out of the surf and sit on the dry beach to remove his sandals. He placed his now bare feet on the sand and leaned back on his hands. He turned to watch her looking at him and smiled. The usual weight he carried with him daily seemed to be lifted momentarily, and his smile was wider than she had seen before. Myrina smiled in return before turning once more to look back out across the sky.

Hector gazed at it as well, wondering what she was seeing or possibly searching for. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and this left the light blue color uninterrupted where it stretched out endlessly overhead. Next he turned yet again to Myrina, and she stood motionless on the wet sand at the edge of the shore. Normally Hector would not stare at anyone for too long out of courtesy, but with her back turned to him and her attention elsewhere, he inspected her curiously. Her hair was dark and heavy from the water weighing it down to her waist though a few stray curls sprung up around the edges where they were already drying. She wore plain robes unlike the decorative, delicate ones women within the palace donned. Her frame was slender, and she was of average height. From behind, nothing in particular stood out to him about the girl, but he could picture her eyes which had caught his attention the first time he ever met her. She had grown so much since then, and he wondered why he hadn't noticed it before now. He stood up and walked over to his petite friend before she felt his gaze and caught him staring at her.

Myrina didn't turn or even notice when the young man approached her. Her attention was drawn inward as she inevitably began thinking of her mother once more and how easily she had abandoned her memory when Hector arrived. She felt guilty for so easily forgetting the purpose of the day. She was to mourn and be unhappy, not having fun with her friend. She wondered whether her mother would be offended if she knew how Myrina had behaved.

"Myrina?" Hector said to get her attention. She turned her head a little too quickly at his voice which snapped her out of her thoughts, but she smiled when she saw it was him. "What are you thinking about?"

"My mother," she admitted so softly it was nearly inaudible. In fact, she doubted Hector heard her since he didn't say anything for a long time. The truth, however, was he simply didn't know how to respond. He was not accustomed to discussing his feelings or anyone else's for that matter, and this was clearly a topic that he couldn't dismiss carelessly.

"You will see her again," he offered after awhile, and Myrina turned to look at him. "In the afterlife, you may see her."

"I wish she were here though."

"You shouldn't spend your life mourning her. No mother would want that."

"I'm afraid I will forget her. There are so many things that already I can't remember. What if one day I forget her completely?"

"You won't."

"How do you know?"

He paused to gather his thoughts, and he shifted his weight over one foot, uncomfortable with the intimate topic of conversation. He saw how distraught and sad she was though, and he searched for the proper words to ease her mind. Occasionally he would comfort Paris, but his brother rarely had such deeply sorrowful troubles. "You care for her. You will always have her memory."

To his relief, the words seemed to strike a chord within her, and she relaxed somewhat. The conversation was lined with long pauses while both would digest the words spoken as well as their own thoughts, but it was not uncomfortable. It was a welcome break for Hector from having to think of something appropriate to say. He hadn't exactly been trained in how to comfort a young girl who had lost her mother when she was only a child. "Thank you," Myrina said earnestly, and Hector nodded his head in response. With a soft sigh, she turned and walked back past Hector to sit on the beach beside his abandoned sandals.

Hector stayed where he was and considered many things. Their previous topic had left him in a thoughtful mood. One subject that was currently ruling his mind was war. As he had anticipated, that morning his father had told the emissaries Hector and Glaucus would lead a contigent to Thessaly. They would be under Hector and Glaucus' command alone which had surprised Hector. He had anticipated that he would still be under his father's control, but as he considered it further, he realized how impossible that was. With a sea separating them, exchanging messages would be a hassle and take much too long for immediate decisions. Instead Hector was given control, and this made him more excited than ever to leave. 'Soon I will sail across the sea with Glaucus to war and no doubt victory.' He moved his gaze across the plains in the direction of where his home was located. 'I will leave this place for months.' He was unsure of how long it would take to cross the sea exactly, but he hoped that the war certainly wouldn't last any longer. While he did wish to go to battle, he didn't want to be away from Troy for so long. 'And I may fight as well,' he added silently. The thought of running into battle side by side with his men made his insides swell considerably. He could imagine everyone knowing his name and how his father would react when he realized how wrong he had been about Hector. With that train of thought, the prince began recalling his conversation with his father from yesterday and vaguely wondered what it felt like to kill someone. He tried to visualize a sword being thrust through a man. Next, he imagined he was at the hilt of that sword. As the scene replayed over and over in his mind, each time he realized that he felt nothing. He assumed it was because it wasn't the real thing, just a figment of his imagination. Then he wondered if one possibly didn't feel anything.

Myrina watched Hector's back while he thought. She didn't mind the silence that had fallen between them. She was content for the moment. 'What is he thinking about?' she asked herself. 'I wonder if he is thinking about me and how foolish I was earlier.' The edges of her mouth hiccupped. She watched him intently, etching his outline into her mind. Her eyes darted across his wet hair hanging in locks down to the nape of his neck. His black shirt hung loosely in places and clung to him in others, but the tanned glistening skin of his strong arms was a definite contrast to the black. She pondered what exactly the pale skin looked like under his leather cuffs. Her gaze traveled back up the length of his arms and met his broad shoulders. They gently rose and fell with each slow breath he took. Then she drew a line down the middle of his back where his spine would be. His shirt was tucked into the black material tied around his waist which was long enough to reach the bottom of his calves. She turned her gaze away to avoid him catching her and watched wave after wave roll into the shore.

Hector had been so deep in thought that he hadn't felt her eyes on him. He turned around to see her looking off toward the sea and sat down beside her. "Would you like to go?" he asked after a moment or two when he noticed the sun's position in the sky.

"Yes." She rose to her feet and swatted at the sand clinging to her clothes. She was a mess but then again so was Hector. They hadn't necessarily been considering how they would look when they ran into the water and then got covered in sand. Hector slipped on his sandals once more, and the pair headed back toward the small village.

"I hadn't realized how much you've grown," Hector said to make conversation on their journey back.

Myrina smiled and looked up at her friend. "It apparently wasn't enough. You are still taller than me."

"And I always will be," he returned with a grin and glanced down at her to examine their difference in sizes. He was usually taller than most men, so it was no surprise when he noted that the top her head didn't even reach his shoulders.

"Perhaps, but you'll never be as fast as I am," Myrina commented with an underlying challenge.

He looked thoughtful before replying, "I'm afraid we will never know because it is unfair to challenge a woman."

Myrina frowned and was reminded oddly enough of what her brother Aeton had told Alkaios weeks ago about the difference between women and men. "I thought I told you to not assume that I am like every other woman."

Hector tilted his head. "You did say that." Myrina took that as acceptance enough, and she bolted off yet again with Hector following behind her. The distance to the village seemed so much shorter with them racing there. Myrina was somewhat tired from her exertions earlier that afternoon, and Hector noticed that she began slowing the longer they ran. Though it would have been easy for him to press on, claim victory, and gloat about it, the prince slowed his pace to match hers and checked to see whether they should stop completely or not. Apparently, she was not keen to surrender so easily, and she continued with the last of her strength. The muscles of her legs burned, and her heart raced unsteadily in her chest; but she loved the way she felt she might take flight at any second if she ran fast enough. When the house was in view, Hector pulled back even more, allowing Myrina to race ahead into the house first. He wasn't entirely sure why he let her win, but he assumed it was courtesy and dismissed it before he could think any longer about it. The good thing about their race was that none of the villagers were able to catch a glimpse of the man running with Myrina into her house. Any who did notice the pair likely assumed it was one of Myrina's older brothers. When Isidora saw them, however, she grimaced in distaste as she was prone to now any time she saw the two together. Earlier when Hector had arrived, he thought the servant considered sending him away for a moment. Naturally she didn't, but she had been hesitant to reveal where Myrina was. Perhaps she thought the prince would leave if he thought Myrina were not at home. Instead, Hector had sought out his friend.

"Do you need to wash up?" Myrina asked, ignoring Isidora's disapproving eyes.

His skin was sticky from the remnants of the salt water clinging to him, but the sun's position in the sky had been a warning. He feared lingering with her for too long lest anyone become suspicious of his whereabouts. "No, I must return." He would wash once at the palace. At the comment, Isidora moved out of the room to no doubt retrieve his horse. The way she jumped at the prospect made Hector think she was glad to be rid of him.

Myrina's face fell somewhat. It was her fault for always choosing to ignore the reality that he would leave each time he saw her. With each visit, she was growing more and more attached to him, and evidently the feeling was mutual since he continued to visit her. "Would you like some water or food before the journey?" she asked in a feeble attempt to steal a few more minutes with him.

The prince smiled at her kindness and shook his head while grabbing his cloak. Once it was pinned at his neck, he broached the topic he had wanted to discuss with her since he had arrived. They had been distracted by other events and now seemed to be his only chance. "I will sail to Thessaly in perhaps two weeks' time."

"War," she guessed, and all the color drained from her face. Her brow knit in concern, and her heart raced in her chest as the fear gripped her.

"Yes. I will lead an outfit to the aid of our allies. Our forces may not be necessary." Hector, however, hoped they would be, and he had a feeling he would see battle before long. Myrina didn't know what to say. The words were caught in her throat in a painful lump, but her eyes peered up at him and revealed her tumultuous emotions. They made the prince slightly uncomfortable, but mainly he felt touched that she was worried about him. His father had dismissed him as if his death would be a welcome reprieve, but here she looked so afraid for him. "There is no need to be upset," he offered at length. "I will live long enough to be a commander of Troy, remember?" He hoped the gentle quip would lighten her mood, but he had no such luck. Still, she wouldn't speak a word. "I must go."

"Are you happy to go?" she wondered finally. "To war?"

"Yes. I have trained for this."

"You have been trained to kill men."

"That is part of war."

"How could you take the life of another without thinking about it, without considering it? Who are you to deal out death? Who are you to decide who should die and who should live? Leave that decision to the gods for it is their decision alone." Her eyes lit up with passion, uncertainty, and anger. Myrina felt furious that today she had been mourning the loss of her mother, and now she was presented with the possibility of her dear friend leaving her as well. She didn't care what a seer told him about his future. How could he be so calm in the face of such a dangerous task? One that claimed numerous lives? Furthermore, how could he tell her when he was quite literally poised in the doorway to return to the palace?

"And what if it is their time to die? Suppose that I am the one to kill them. What of that? " Hector rejoined without hesitation. He would not pretend to be ashamed of accepting his duty and rising to do what was necessary for Troy. She was upset, and he could forgive her for that; but he wouldn't feel guilty for his decision. Evidently, Myrina didn't have an answer for him though he gave her ample time to respond. At length, he gave up and turned to leave the house while drawing the hood of his cloak. Myrina didn't follow immediately like she always did, and he looked toward the house once he had mounted his horse. At the last moment, she stepped into the doorway and met his gaze. Unspoken words hung heavily between them, but Hector broke the connection and galloped off, leaving the young girl alone to deal with her complicated thoughts and emotions. Would she even see him again before he left for war? Her thoughts turned much more pessimistic as she wondered if this were the last time she would ever see him.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Hey dolls! Sorry for the delay, but I could not sit down and write this chapter for the life of me! It turned out being much longer than I anticipated, so hopefully that makes up for it. :)


	9. Tomorrow Never Knows

Chapter 8  
"Tomorrow Never Knows"

Since Priam had decided that Glaucus and Hector would lead a small contingent across the sea to Thessaly, discussions of strategy, planning for their journey and arrival, and preparations were in full swing once more. Hector insisted he have as active a role in every decision as he could, and already he wanted to show his father what he was capable of. The meticulous detail with which they examined every aspect and planned for any possible deviations was somewhat exhausting but necessary. Glaucus and Hector easily put their prior disagreement and fight behind them so that they could work together. Conversely, Priam still seemed angry with Hector, and the prince and his father barely spoke a word to the other when it did not concern his upcoming departure. During their last encounter with the Thracian diplomats, they had been given details as to the size of the Thracian army, where their camps were located, what knowledge they had of Thessaly's army, and other pertinent information. It had been decided that the best point of arrival was further north than the actual battle near the mouth of the Haliacmon River with the Pieres tribe where they would set up camp. It was close enough to the battle to travel there in under a day, but it was far enough away that it wouldn't seem as though they were immediately involved. This would make the voyage across the Aegean Sea much shorter than Hector had initially anticipated, and this pleased him because he would be in the exciting throws of war somewhat sooner.

During the day, the prince had a full schedule, but at night, he inevitably was left to his own devices. Lately, this involved replaying his last encounter with Myrina over and over in his mind. The manner in which things were left didn't sit well with him, and he didn't like the idea of sailing across the Aegean without saying a proper goodbye. After all, she was one of his few friends, and he wanted the chance to see her a final time before he left and right any ill feelings between them. That, however, was easier said than done. Swallowing his pride and making the effort to see her was a difficult thing for the prince to do though it was an action he seemed to be taking more and more often with her, and he wasn't entirely sure what that said about his character.

After dinner one night, his mother took his arm and guided him away from the rest of the group to speak with him. Hector didn't often spend time with Hecuba ever since he had grown older, but he loved her dearly as any child loves their mother; and like most mothers, Hecuba had a sixth sense when it concerned her children. This opportunity to travel to Greece signaled a distinct, important transformation in Hector's life, and Hecuba would not miss a chance to speak with him about it before he left.

"You have become so involved in your planning that I have not been able to discuss it with you," she commented as they strolled casually through the palace and toward the royal quarters.

"We've not had much time," Hector explained hastily in case his mother were offended that he hadn't spoken with her in quite some time. "The Thracians need our support as soon as we can offer it."

"And what support are you willing to give?"

"We will bring supplies to them, perhaps discuss war strategy with them, and if the Aetolians join Thessaly, we will undoubtedly enter the war." Hector noticed the slight excitement in his tone and quickly added, "But not before. Father thinks we should wait."

"You say you will not fight," she murmured gently. She had an innate ability to read his thoughts without Hector uttering a word to deceive them. Clearly she understood her son would somehow find a way to enter into battle –especially without Priam looming over him and forcing his will.

"I have given my word."

Hecuba smiled softly at her son in a way that silently told him she knew far better than to believe war would be avoided. His initial, inactive presence in Greece would simply be a formality. "It will be difficult to stand aside when your allies are racing into battle. You're still young. You crave adventure and excitement, and it is only natural; but I do worry about your eagerness for combat… I worry you will let your enthusiasm cloud your judgment."

"I won't." A now well-known frustration resurfaced within him. It seemed that constantly others were doubting his abilities, and he was so exhausted from attempting to prove himself. Yes, he did wish for battle. He wanted it if only to show that he could handle it, and that he was worthy of their respect and trust. Perhaps he was inexperienced, but that did not automatically make him incompetent. "Why does everyone doubt me?"

She read his emotions easily enough and wished she could reach out and stroke his hair comfortingly as she had when he was boy. However, she recognized his need for space and independence at this age so she refrained from such a tender gesture. Treating him like a child would only anger him further. "It is not doubt, Hector. War is a difficult matter for a king to handle, let alone a prince. If this is not a conflict which directly impacts Troy, then why become involved?"

"How can you say that this will not directly impact Troy? The Thracians border us directly to the north and east. Our alliance is necessary but fragile, yet everyone behaves as if the Thracians will support Troy regardless of our actions. What cause will they have to come to our aid should we ever call on them if we do not even feign an interest in this war?" He peered at his mother with intense eyes, showing his determination and resolve on the topic, and continued, "I will rule these lands one day, and I won't allow a break in our bonds so long as I can avoid it. I care about my country and my countrymen, and I would not sail to Greece if I did not believe it were the best choice for Troy's future."

At his words, there was a shimmer of something lining the dark depths of Hecuba's eyes, and in the dim torchlight of the corridor, Hector strained to pick it out and identify it. When his mother spoke next, he recognized it in her voice. "You will make a wise king one day." She was proud. "You care about Troy and its allies… But when you are older, you may recognize that you must choose your battles wisely. Not every war which involves our allies is meant to also include Troy. It is a difficult decision to make and one that shouldn't be taken lightly, but as a king, you'll realize that there are times we are meant to participate and others where we should simply watch."

Hector dropped his gaze at his mother's wisdom, gained from years spent at Priam's side. "Father believes this is such a battle… Do you as well?" Though she was a woman, she was the Queen of Troy, and she had more power than many likely suspected. While Priam was the head who made the final decisions, Hecuba was the neck, and she had ways of turning the head however she pleased. Obviously, this was the prince seeking some verbalized form of reassurance. With his mother, he unwittingly allowed a glimpse of his uncertainty. Unlike his father, Hecuba was much more gentle toward Hector, and it was easier for him to garner her approval.

Her eyes reflected the warmth of the torches, and her hand rested on his shoulder, causing him to meet her gaze once more. Within them lay the reassurance he sought. Though Hecuba did not agree with his leaving, she understood that nothing would change his mind. Instead, he needed someone to bolster him, and for the moment, Hecuba helped him remember his strength. "If you think that this is what must be done, then nothing else matters. Never forget that you will rule these lands, and you have as much right to voice your opinions as the others. Trust your instincts. Remain strong in the face of opposition." Hector's brow knit, and she saw his resolve growing with her every word. "You have learned to fight with your head." Her hand moved from his shoulder, and her palm flattened against his chest. "Now you must fight with your heart."

Her voice resounded deep within him, awaking the part of him that was strong, determined, and confident. It seemed that her advice not only applied to his current situation where he was fighting to be recognized as a man, but also for the future where he would soon be immersed in war. Finding the courage to trust himself was difficult now that he was stepping out of his father's shadow and rising to become his own man, but at that moment, Hector felt invincible. Noting the change in his stance, Hecuba smiled broadly to encourage his transformation. "When do you sail?"

"Three... Four days at the most."

"I will miss you terribly," she confessed with a bittersweet smile, "but I hope you will find what you are searching for in Greece."

"I will." He couldn't believe that there were any other options.

The woman patted his chest gently as if to silently remind him of her recent words, but Hector wouldn't forget them any time soon. With that, she decided, "It is time for me to retire for the night. You should get your rest as well. It will be few and far between while you're at sea."

They parted, and Hector returned to his chambers where the reality of his mission set in. During the past week, he had been so consumed by planning that he hadn't realized how imminent his departure truly was. He sat on the edge of his bed while his mind raced over all the details, and he attempted to imagine himself arriving on the shores of Greece. His heart beat anxiously, and in his excitement, sleep evaded him that night.

* * *

"Do not work it so long," Isidora chided from behind the young girl.

Her sharp voice cut through Myrina's daydream and caused the girl to jump slightly. For over a week now, Myrina had not been entirely present in reality. Naturally, her thoughts concerned her friend who would be sailing across the sea to war. He had said two weeks, and she counted the days off in her mind. Thus far it had been ten days since she had last seen him, and the number burned in her mind as a constant warning. Had he left already without saying goodbye? Would he not see her again after she had snapped at him? Though she didn't deserve a chance to apologize for her irrational, emotional behavior, she had vainly hoped the gods would pity her and send the prince her way one final time. Her blue-green eyes considered the lump of dough before her, and she realized she had no idea how long she had stood there kneading it. For good measure, she pressed the heel of her hand across it and rolled it, gauging its resistance. Isidora had been right to stop her, or she would have over worked the dough while lost in her thoughts. Without a word, she set it aside to rise before they baked it to accompany the soup for supper.

"It is a wonder your feet are on the ground, your head has been so far in the clouds," the older woman grumbled irritably. Her words went in one ear and out the other for Myrina who didn't even grant her enough attention to register the mild insult. This only proved to annoy the servant further who pushed the vegetables toward her. "Cut these, will you?" Numbly she grabbed the knife and began slicing them for the soup while Isidora slipped outside to undoubtedly gather something else. Considering her lack of attention, Isidora had been forced to pick up her slack which could account for her current bout of frustration. Myrina would have felt guilty were she conscious enough to notice it, but as it were, she couldn't take her mind off of her friend. She feared she would never see him again, and the pessimistic thought was haunting her incessantly.

A shift of movement to her left didn't immediately catch her attention until she vaguely registered the size of the form ducking through the doorway. Her head turned curiously to inspect the latest addition to the room, and her breath caught in her throat as the tall stranger pulled back the hood of his cloak. Her heart paused as she stared him in complete surprise, but a sharp sting brought her back to the present moment. With a glance down at her hand, she realized that in her shock she had cut her finger rather deeply. She hissed under her breath at the sight and dropped the knife with a clatter onto the kitchen table.

"Let me see it." He was beside her before she even registered he had moved. His mere presence had stunned her, and her actions were sluggish as the numb surprise worked its way through her system. He took her hand and inspected it momentarily to assess how bad the wound was before continuing, "You need to clean it." He grabbed the cup of leftover water Myrina had used to form the dough and poured the remainder over the wound. It stung, and she bit her lip against the pain though it was not unbearable. In fact, it was a distant throbbing lingering on the periphery of her consciousness since her full attention was on him. Her eyes scanned the familiar lines of his face, searching for some sign of an impostor, as if it were impossible for him to truly be standing there before her. He then grabbed a piece of cloth, checked that it was clean enough, and wrapped it tightly around the wound to slow the bleeding. His large hand encompassed hers to firmly hold the makeshift tourniquet in place, and his brow was knit in mild concern over his chestnut eyes which peered down at her as he asked, "Is that better?"

Her awestruck mind was slow to process what had occurred between them, and she was oblivious to anything he had said. Instead she admitted, "I thought you had left."

Hector smirked gently, amused by the statement. "You thought I would leave without seeing you?"

She blushed slightly when she realized he was making fun of her, but she still was too dumbfounded to adequately address and answer his questions. "I should not have said what I did to you the other day." The apology had nearly been choking her once she realized it was him, and she felt instant relief once she voiced it even without him accepting it. She simply needed him to hear it. "I don't know why I said that."

There was an abrupt cough from the doorway, and they both turned to see the source of the noise. Isidora stood at the entrance of the kitchen with a palm to her chest, pretending as though the cough had been real and not a way to draw their attention to her and hopefully startle them out of whatever she had caught them doing. They were standing less than a foot apart with him holding her hand, and they had been staring at each other so intently. Isidora assumed the worst. Nothing innocent happened with two young people so close together. At least that was what she thought. Hector was merely irritated by her interruption since he was accustomed to servants going out of their way to appear invisible around him. He had been gradually becoming more aware that Isidora had an ulterior motive and was protective of Myrina. Though on some level he could appreciate her concern for his young friend, it bothered him that she judged him so quickly. Myrina, on the other hand, took a step back, taking her injured hand with her. The prince released her hand, and only then did he notice how long he had been holding it. He supposed that was somewhat improper, but he did not see Myrina that way. Once Isidora was pleased with the increased distance between them, she stepped away though she was always within earshot to listen in on what was being said.

The pair were quiet for a moment, and Hector removed his cloak. The action spurred Myrina who quickly fetched him a cup of water, and they took their seats on the kitchen bench as always. The familiarity of this habit put them both at ease, and Myrina wondered, "When do you leave?"

"In a few days. Then it will be about two weeks before we reach the coast. Hopefully the gods smile on us, and we will have no trouble along the way."

"What will you do once there?"

"Set up camp," he said vaguely for he was not entirely sure himself. Though they had spent days planning for every possibility, there was no telling how the future would unfold. "Meet with the Thracian leaders. I will gather all the information I can on the war and then send a messenger back to Troy to tell my father and his council."

"The king will not go with you?"

"No. This is more of a scouting trip for the time being. He has no need to leave the city."

Myrina had never heard of anything to do with war aside from perhaps myths and stories her brothers had told her when she was younger. This, however, was real, and she drank in the new facts with interest. "You will lead them then?" she guessed.

Hector grinned proudly and nodded his head. "Yes. Myself and a general will take a group of men there."

She instantly recognized the significance of this and reflected back his excitement. "The seer's prophecy is already coming true."

This caused him to chuckle lightly. "It is a far way from this to commanding the Trojan army."

"You have to walk before you can run."

"I would rather run," he admitted with a hint of longing to his voice.

"You will." His gaze met hers, and her certainty in this statement made him smile. "But you men have no patience for waiting. If it is not immediate, you lose interest."

His dark eyes shone in amusement as he inquired, "And how have you come to know of men's impatience?"

"I have two older brothers," she reminded him easily. "I am well aware of men's impatience, pride, and stubbornness."

"Not every man possesses such qualities, Myrina."

"You have already shown one of them," she pointed out with a smile. "It's only a matter of time before I see the others."

"I would hate to disappoint you, but I'm afraid on this matter you are wrong."

"So you assume you are not like other men?"

Hector tilted his head somewhat at the question and decided, "In some ways I would like to think I am different."

She lifted an eyebrow and snapped back, "Pride."

The abrupt accusation surprised Hector, and he returned, "That is not pride. It is normal to say you are not like every other individual. You can't base your judgment off of something so trivial."

"Stubbornness."

His eyes narrowed, but anything he said in defense of himself would only further prove her right. She had trapped him, and she was beaming with pleasure at that fact. He had walked into it without assuming she had any ulterior motive, and using her naivety as a guise, she had tricked him. There was some part of him -his pride, unfortunately- that was frustrated, but looking down at her with her bright smile, he mainly felt amused by the little game. She may have won the first battle, but the war was far from finished. "You neglect to describe the characteristics of a woman."

Myrina eagerly faced the latest challenge. "I would be interested to hear what you think they are."

He paused to consider which qualities would incite her and give him the reaction he desired. At length, he offered, "Indecisive, impulsive, and overly emotional."

Her lips parted as the words hit her like a slap in the face. "How dare you say that all women possess such characteristics! You would not be here without a woman. Without wome-"

He cut her off with one word: "Emotional."

As he anticipated, it stopped her dead in her tracks as her mind realized he had tricked her as well, and the two peered at each other in equal amusement and frustration. "Fine." So it was a truce. At least until they found another topic to quarrel about. It evidently was in their nature to provoke each other -even when it was light-hearted, leaving some future argument on the horizon any time they met. For the moment, however, Myrina inevitably began considering his journey, and it made her time with him that much more important to her. "When will I see you again?"

Recognizing the shift in their conversation and consequent change in the mood, he confessed, "I cannot be sure. It could be two months at the earliest if we do not go to war, but if we do, then I'm not certain."

She dropped her head and considered her folded hands in her lap. "I waited five years to see you, and now you're leaving again."

Hector shifted and tried to think of some way to ease the sorrow in her voice. "It will not seem so long." This garnered him a disbelieving look, and he smiled as he teased, "You must be patient."

"You will be at war, running into battle, and I will be here... cooking and cleaning." The obvious juxtaposition between their two immediate futures clearly annoyed her, but she ignored it as she considered him earnestly. "Remember every detail because I will want to hear everything."

"I will," he promised. The goodbye had come at an advantageous time for the prince needed to return to the city anyway. He stood up to signal his leave, but Myrina didn't join him immediately as if she could will him to sit down and stay with her a little longer. His visit had passed so quickly, and of course she only realized this now that he was poised to depart.

Impulsively, she commanded, "Wait here a moment." She then hurried back to her room to retrieve her final gift and returned to him. She extended her uninjured hand and gave him the tarnished gold pin.

Hector smirked and carefully handled the aged token of their friendship before holding it out toward her. "You should keep it."

She pushed his hand away and assured him, "No... It may bring you luck." It was not the real reason she gave it to him, but she wouldn't admit her true intentions aloud. Part of her was selfish and afraid he would forget her while away. She hoped that by giving him the pin, he would have some piece of her and think of her each time he saw it. It was the best thing she could give to him.

His long fingers curled around the pin, pressing it firmly into the palm of his hand, and he was grateful for her generosity in giving it to him. Hector was not accustomed to goodbyes, and he struggled to find the proper words to say. Acknowledging the pin in his hand, he noted that perhaps there was nothing left to say. Consequently, he grabbed his cloak and headed out of the house with Myrina on his heels. When she saw them exit the home, Isidora left to retrieve his horse, and Myrina swore she had never seen the older woman hurry so swiftly. While they waited for her to return, they stood awkwardly beside each other, each attempting to process their own feelings on parting for an undecided period of time. The fact that their were no constraints to his journey, time stretched out infinitely in her mind, and she panicked slightly at how little she in fact had left with him. There were so many things she felt she should do or say, but they lumped up painfully in her throat; and she was unable to voice a single one. Isidora approached with the prince's horse in tow, and the weight of the situation bore down so heavily on Myrina's shoulders that her knees shook as if they might buckle at any second under the pressure. Her heart beat erratically beneath her chest, and it's pace nearly doubled with every step Isidora took. She turned her gaze to peer up at the now cloaked Hector, and she couldn't read his emotions since his face was hidden from sight. In a final attempt to hold onto their solidarity, she grabbed his arm and gasped around the words choking her, "Don't forget me."

The prince looked down at her, and despite the shadow thrown across his face, she felt the intensity of his gaze. He lifted his left hand where he was still holding the pin and presented it as evidence. "I'll remember." Somehow the horse was there, and he pulled his arm away as he mounted the steed and settled himself. Myrina moved closer to him than she should have, but there was some part of her that feared for the worst. What if he didn't return? A thousand endless, cruel thoughts plagued her mind in that moment, and she sought some sort of comfort by being near her friend. Isidora took her by the arm and pulled her away as Hector kicked his steed and galloped off toward the city. Myrina writhed against the old woman and easily broke her grip before she ran after him for a few feet to get a better view of his departure.

He didn't look back.

* * *

Three days later Hector was standing with his men at the port where they would sail for Greece. The morning sun's light cast shadows across the scene as the men loaded the last bits of cargo onto the two ships they would be taking. There would be about thirty men aboard each, and the soldiers that had been assigned to the task of accompanying the prince and general to Greece were already taking their positions. The Prince of Troy, however, lingered on the shore where several of his family members were waiting to see him off. It was his first trip away from home, and he felt suddenly important having all these people gathered for him. Priam appeared stoic as always where he stood overseeing everything with vague interest, and Hector respectfully approached him first.

He bowed his head and said, "I will send word as soon as I can."

"Remember your lessons. You will need everything you have learned to navigate this situation. Never act unless you are prepared to face the consequences." Priam's tone was neutral and undecipherable, so that Hector couldn't tell if his father was pleased or agitated by his departure. When his ice blue eyes slid around to consider the port, they paused briefly on Hector. The young man lifted his chin to meet his father's gaze, but the moment slipped away before he could learn anything from the king's eyes. "Do not forget you serve Troy and not the Thracian tribes."

"I will bring you honor," the young man assured him earnestly. Even if it killed him, he would uphold that promise above all others.

Once more Hector was met with Priam's blue eyes, and there was something in them he had never seen before in his life. Was his father nervous? Priam's face was neutral and stoic as it always was, but there was something about his tense figure that alerted Hector to a change in his demeanor. "Take Glaucus' advice. He has fought in my army for years, and he is a shrewd general." Hector nodded though he hated being reminded of his inexperience. Hopefully that would all change soon. "I pray the gods bless your voyage, my son."

"Thank you, father." With that, he moved on to his mother who was smiling proudly at him with so many emotions clearly written on her face -unlike her husband who seemed guarded that day.

The woman took Hector's face between her hands and reached up. Hector bent his head forward since he was taller and met the kiss she placed on his forehead. Though he felt he was too old for such a gesture, he welcomed it considering the circumstances. Hecuba's eyes shifted slightly, and she swallowed back her sadness and tears at seeing her son leave. "Remember what I told you," she murmured softly, "and you will be great."

Hector smiled down at his mother whom he loved dearly especially now that she eased the fears twisting his stomach up in knots. "I will." Reluctantly, he moved down the line to his younger brother Paris who was an evident nervous wreck. The older prince smirked affectionately at him while Paris peered up with wide doe eyes. Hector clapped him on the shoulder. "While I am gone, you are Troy's prince. Make me proud."

Paris nearly shuddered under his emotions, and he rushed forward to embrace Hector. At first Hector was stunned by the sudden action, and he felt slightly uncomfortable with it since they were in public. However, he humored his brother and patted him half-heartedly on the back before forcefully pushing Paris away. "Be careful, brother. I won't disappoint you. You will be surprised when you return and see how I have changed."

"I only hope that it will be a good surprise," Hector jested with a grin which Paris eagerly returned. The eldest Trojan prince said his goodbyes to the several more of his younger brothers since his sisters had not ventured out of the city walls to see him off. Once he reached the last one, he glanced back down the line and took a steadying breath. This was it. When he turned from them to approach his ship, his excitement and anticipation coiled around his chest, pressing down until it was hard to breathe, but it was somehow a pleasant feeling. After a few final adjustments, they were ready, and the two Trojan ships began their journey across the Aegean. Initially, Hector stood at the stern of the ship and watched the shores of Troy fade away. With every passing minute, his enthusiasm grew substantially, and it felt as though he were heading out on an adventure. He had dreamt of this day since he was a young boy, and now he was aware of every single minute detail as if any sudden shift might end it all; and Hector would wake up only to find the entire affair had been a figment of his imagination.

"You will see Troy again, my prince." Hector glanced over his shoulder and saw Glaucus standing behind him, donning a bemused smile at his evident excitement. "I'll be sure to keep you from harm."

Hector approached the general and nonchalantly rejoined, "Judging by our last duel, you may be the one who needs guarding."

Glaucus laughed heartily for he was in good spirits. Like Hector, he longed for battle as if it were his very life force. "When the time comes, we will see." Leaving it at that, the general turned to duck below deck.

Now that his attention had been drawn from his home, Hector moved toward the bow to gaze out over the horizon. Above him the white sail crackled under the pressure of the changing wind, and the strong sea breeze whipped his chestnut curls across his face. He squinted his eyes as he stared across the bright expanse with endless crests of waves upon the blue sea stretching out in front of him, and his focus was drawn to where it met the sky on the horizon.

What future awaited him on the coast he could not say, but he fearlessly faced the west with the sun rising behind him. It seemed like a good omen.

* * *

**Author's Note**: I want to point out if you look at ancient maps, the Bisaltae are farther north than I'm obviously claiming. I'm aware of this. This is my rendition of how they end up there. I want them to initially be settled south to the immediate west of the Pieres tribe, they obviously start spreading out too far south into Thessaly, and war happens. By the end, they'll be up where they're supposed to be haha On that note, I am trying very hard to do my research and keep things realistic (to the extent that I want haha), so sometimes these chapters with war strategy, etc. take a little longer because I want to find the right details and not BS everything ;) I also had to take defensive driving for a speeding ticket which takes forever… Ugh. "You should not make a U-turn if there is a chance that vehicles may hit you." Soooo enlightening. In happier news, I've already written a huge chunk of the next chapter, so hopefully it will be up soon :D


	10. Battle of One

Chapter 9  
"Battle of One"

* * *

Recommended Songs: "Hurricane" & "Night of the Hunter" – 30 Seconds to Mars

* * *

Seventeen days after leaving the Trojan shores, the two ships finally crossed the Thermaic Gulf, and Hector stood at the bow of the ship, his eyes scanning the distance where he could vaguely make out the Haliacmon River's delta. As they drew closer, he could see the outlines of the tents were the Pieres tribe was located. The tents undoubtedly also housed numerous soldiers from the other Thracian tribes who had chosen to camp there as well as the Bisaltae refugees who had been displaced from their homes along the border of Thessaly. A group gathered on the shores once they recognized the sails of the Trojan ships approaching, and Hector's excitement returned as he realized this was what he had been waiting for. It had taken over a month of planning and sailing to reach this end, but staring out at the foreign land with strangers waiting to welcome them, he decided it had been worth it. Here he would find his glory -one way or another.

Several Thracian soldiers rushed forward under their kings' commands to help drive the ships up onto the shore where they could dock until they departed, and Hector with Glaucus behind him abandoned the ship in lieu of the beach. They approached the group, and though their dress differed from the typical Trojan wear, Hector easily picked out who were the kings and who were generals. Evidently they all had been curious and eager to meet the Trojan crown prince who could possibly persuade Priam into joining the war. There was no doubt they would be treated with the utmost hospitality even in these times of war if only to try and sway the prince's opinion. Little did they know, Hector would be glad to fight along side them. Granted, he would keep his word, and he wouldn't lead the men into battle without a proper reason. Despite his enthusiasm, he realized there was no need for casualties among his men without cause. Hector had some vague intuition, however, that their soldiers would be needed at some point.

"Welcome Prince of Troy," one of the kings spoke up, and he smiled warmly at the pair approaching him. "I regret that our paths must cross under such circumstances, but I am pleased to properly meet you. Your father and I were young men when we fought in battle beside one another, and you were but a babe at the time."

"My lord Acamas," Hector guessed, and the king's smile brightened to acknowledge his name. "My father would have liked to have journeyed here. He often spoke of you."

"Ah, but I may see him yet again," Acamas pointed out swiftly, acknowledging the possibility that the Trojan's troops might join them in battle. Before Hector could speak on the matter, the Thracian king suggested, "Come join me in my tent. We have much to discuss. My servants will show your men where to set up camp while we speak." Thus, Hector and Glaucus were guided to a large tent further inland where Acamas was staying. Several other Thracian kings followed behind since they all were anxious to converse with the prince, and once more, Hector acknowledged that he was grateful for the general's presence beside him. Suddenly being thrown into a completely different setting where he would need to be eloquent and discuss matters logically made him somewhat uneasy. He was accustomed to his father being the center of attention with Hector comfortably seated on the periphery, occasionally granting his input but without much power. Now all eyes were on Hector, but at least Glaucus was a familiar face -even if he wasn't particularly fond of the older man. They settled down inside the tent in something of a semi-circle with Hector sitting near Acamas, Glaucus to his left, one of Acamas' main generals to Acamas' right, and the various other kings scattered around the remainder of the space.

They were granted food and water, and it seemed that the topic of war might be evaded a while longer. In the mean time, they discussed the state of affairs in Troy, his father's health, and various other polite subjects of conversation. When one of the servants filled the prince's cup with wine, Hector vaguely wondered if the king hoped the wine might loosen him up. Hector was not nearly so dense, and through the entire encounter, he didn't allow his guard to fall. Though he came off as gracious, well-mannered, and kind, inwardly he was assessing every word and action cautiously. He didn't yet trust these men despite their being allies. One lesson his father had taught him early on was the power of manipulation and coercion in politics. Even in simple, everyday situations one could be taken advantage of, and it was best to always be on alert.

When the afternoon shifted into evening, the topic of conversation followed suit. "My diplomats tell me you have no desire to join us unless the Aetolians fight beside Thessaly," Acamas commented cooly from over his cup of wine.

"Your forces are powerful enough to defeat Thessaly without our aid," Hector pointed out in return. His eyes were on Acamas, but he sensed Glaucus tensing beside him as he listened intently. Likewise, many of the men surrounding them fell quiet to hear the conversation.

"You did not sail across the sea to merely watch our fight."

"Troy supports your campaign. Consider my presence evidence of that fact, but we will not participate in a war where we are not needed."

"You crossed the sea. I am pleased with that, but now I'm told you will only watch as my men die on the front lines. How can I consider that assistance?"

"We will help in what manner we can, and you have my word that if the Aetolians fight, so will Troy."

The general from Acamas' right, whom Hector had learned during the afternoon was Peiros, son of Imbrasus, spoke up, "When the Apsinthians heard that our allies in Troy were in need, we marched our men into battle without hesitation... Clearly we cannot expect that same amount of loyalty from the Trojans."

"And how many times has Troy come to the Apsinthian's aid?" Glaucus shot back before Hector could speak up. Being older, he remembered the battle far better, and the insinuation that they were not as dedicated as the Thracians easily irritated the general. His eyes shifted to Euphemos, ruler of the Cicones, and he added, "Or the Ciconians?"

"Peace, my friend," Acamas interrupted with a raised hand. "The battle has worn on our patience. Peiros meant no disrespect... Perhaps we should walk and cool our tongues." The latter was mainly directed toward Peiros, but Hector stood with Glaucus at his side. Acamas led them out of the tent and through the camps where various activities were taking place. To the west, the sun ducked behind the horizon, and in response the men were lighting fires while some of the Bisaltae women were cooking for the soldiers. "It is not that our armies cannot defeat the Thessalians," Acamas continued after a moment of silence. "Time is of the essence. I am not sure if my diplomats informed you of the toll on the Bisaltae tribe, but they were granted no mercy from Thessaly." At the words, Acamas looked toward their right, and Hector followed his gaze to where several refugees were located. A few young children were chasing each other through the cramped spaces between the tents with a woman calling out for them to come inside now that darkness was falling. Inevitably the sight reminded him of the young children who would often play in the market place or the narrow streets of Troy. This was no accident where their walk was directed. Hearing of the cruelty toward women and children had incited Hector to speak up initially when the diplomats called on his father, and now he was faced with the impact Thessaly's army had on them. It was disconcerting to say the least.

"Triopas sees our kind as inferior like a pest that should be wiped out." Acamas' voice hinted at his venomous anger, and Hector was forced to remind himself to remain neutral as his father would. "There have been attacks on refugee camps, and I fear for the barbarism that the Bisaltae will endure if this war continues years longer. Already, they have been displaced from their immediate homes, and now they do not even feel safe within the camps. They have begun migrating further north." Though the Thracian king was attempting to draw a certain response out of Hector, his words were earnest. "I fear without some intervention the Bisaltae will no longer exist once this war has run its course. That is why we look to Troy."

Even if it were an exaggeration, the idea of an entire tribe of people being wiped out caused the hairs on the back of Hector's neck to stand up. His alarm momentarily overcame him, and he wanted to tell the Thracian king that he would help them. He wanted to help end this war as soon as possible, but he would need a reason. Hector was not yet king, and even as a prince, he was subject to the consequences of his actions. For the time being, he gathered his wits about him and rejoined, "The Thessalian's behavior is deplorable... And if Thoas leads his men into battle, we will help you end this war as swiftly as we can." It was something he could hear his father saying. That was mainly why he said it.

Acamas' dark brown eyes slid over to consider the Trojan prince, but Hector couldn't read his emotions. "I wonder if you would still say that were it not the Bisaltae but the Dardanians or Percotians or Apollonians who were at war."

Hector didn't have a response he could verbalize, and at length, they parted. In the night, he found himself in his tent sitting on the edge of his cot and idly handling the gold pin while he was lost in his thoughts. In that moment, he was abruptly glad he was a prince and allowed his own tent for he couldn't bear to be around someone else. He desired solitude to think over the events of the day. By telling Hector of the barbaric acts toward the Bisaltae and discussing his fears about their survival, Acamas had inevitably placed the weight of an entire tribe upon the young prince's shoulders. He found himself wondering if he left the Thracians to their war, would he in effect be condemning an entire tribe of people? The guilt from that notion made him slightly sick, but he felt undeniably hopeless to do anything. Then, he remembered his mother's words several nights before he left for Greece. His fingers curled around the pin and nearly crushed it in his hand as he decided he would find some way to help them. He couldn't stand by and watch a tribe of innocent people face possible genocide to satisfy some king's prejudice.

* * *

Hector had only been at the camps for three days when the news came. The Thracian troops had not yet left for battle since the prince had arrived as they were allowing their army a chance to rest and heal before attacking Thessaly yet again in an attempt to regain more of their lands. During the afternoon, Glaucus came sprinting into Hector's tent, and simply by gazing at the excitement on the older man's face, Hector knew what had happened. Still, he was called to Dryas' tent to hear the news along with the rest of the Thracian kings. The discussion had evidently already begun by the time Hector and Glaucus arrived, and Acamas waved the pair forward to sit near him.

Dryas was the king of the Pieres tribe, and he stood at the head of the tent, drawing everyone's attention in his direction. "Now that our suspicions have been confirmed, we must act swiftly."

"What has happened?" Hector whispered to Acamas though he had no doubt that he knew the answer already.

The Thracian king glanced at the young prince and explained, "We have suspected that Thoas will join the war for months now, and we have hidden spies along the routes between Thessaly and Aetolia. One of them caught a messenger on his way from Thoas to Triopas, and they intercepted the message." The old man's dark eyes were hard as they bore down at Hector. "Thoas will fight." Hector's heart raced anxiously. After all, this was what he had been waiting for, and his mind raced though he attempted to maintain his attention on the discussion in the tent.

"We cannot fight both Thessaly and Aetolia. Our men will be slaughtered on the battlefied," Rhesus, son of Eionus, and leader of the Edones spoke up.

"With their combined forces, our numbers are no match. We should attempt to negotiate," Euphemos agreed from his seat. "The Bisaltae may need to surrender portions of their lands, but it is better than the casualties this war will cost."

At that moment, Polyxo, the king of the Bisaltae, stood, and everyone in the tent grew quiet to see what he would say. "You may wish to abandon these lands, but this is our home. We have settled here for centuries, and my people will not be intimidated so easily. We will fight..." He paused to scan the faces of the kings and generals gathered and asked, "Will none of you support us?"

Without hesitation, Hector rose to his feet, and his tall form towered over the seated kings surrounding him. They all craned their necks to catch a glimpse of the Trojan prince whom they assumed had merely shown his face as a formality. Hector would be all too pleased to prove them wrong. "My lord Polyxo, I have given my word on this matter. If Thoas will lead his men into battle, Troy's army will sail to join your forces. Your lands will not be lost."

Polyxo grinned and bowed his head graciously, and Dryas admitted, "With Troy's soldiers, we cannot lose this war." At the compliment, Hector beamed proudly, and around them, the kings were calling out their approval at the prince's unexpected participation. His chest swelled at the feeling that he would not only be helping right the wrong done to the Bisaltae, he would also have the chance to fight. His enthusiasm was nearly palpable, and it seemed the feeling was mutually shared with the rest of the kings gathered in the tent. The war would continue, but at least now there was hope.

The kings had already decided that while gathered they would discuss war strategy now that they needed to prepare for Aetolia's troops and could account for Troy's numbers. Hector took the opportunity while some of the servants rolled out a large map onto the table to lean over to Glaucus and say, "Quickly! Go find the messenger and tell him of Thoas' involvement. We must send word to my father at once!"

The general was nearly grinning from ear to ear, and he didn't even seem upset that Hector was commanding him. Rather, he agreed, "Yes, my prince," and slipped away from the tent to carry out Hector's will. The prince meanwhile found a position closer toward the center of the room where he could have a better view of the map. Now that they had Hector's word that Troy would sail to their aid, the kings considered him with a hint of respect, and Hector straightened proudly under their gazes. He felt that he had a purpose and a place among their company, and for the first time since arriving, he truly felt that he belonged. Likewise, they would ask his opinion at times and listen when he spoke his mind. It was incredibly gratifying having their undivided attention and feeling important before them. No longer did they treat him as a young, powerless prince sent to act as a puppet for his father. Instead, he was accepted into their group if only for that evening, and Hector reveled in that solidarity.

'Soon,' he thought with a smile tracing his lips as he stared down at the map. 'Soon I will have my glory.'

* * *

Weeks later the sun was blinding overhead as it shifted into its peak position over the sky, bearing down on the two armies facing each other across the barren field. A bead of sweat slipped from under his thick curls and nestled itself momentarily in his eyebrow before moving further down to sting his eye. Hector winced at the mild discomfort, but he was too tense with excitement and anxiety to release one of his arms from his side and wipe away the sweat. Instead, he ignored it and continued scanning the lines of Greek soldiers in the distance. Which would fall at his blade? Who would be first? No matter how many breaths he took, he still couldn't breathe. The weight of his armor felt unusually heavy on his chest and shoulders, and his muscles were coiled beneath in anticipation. In his mind, he saw himself charging them. He sliced open someone's chest, buried his sword within another, and fought each man in turn. The reverie left him numb for he had never seen the last flickers of life leave someone's eyes or held the hilt of the sword which would grant someone's death. That would all change today, and it felt like a silent eternity staring across the expanse.

In the middle of the barren field, several Thracian kings, his father, the king of Thessaly, and some Thessalian generals met to discuss the prospect of ending the war. Hector hoped their brief negotiations were unsuccessful. He didn't travel miles and spend months in the foreign land to turn around and sail home. He came for the glory to be had in battle, and he would settle for no less. The kings parted after mere minutes and headed back toward their armies. After speaking with some of their Thracian allies a moment longer, Priam turned his steed and approached his army where they were poised on the left side of the field. Judging by his father's face, the battle would continue as he had anticipated, and Hector's heart raced slightly faster in response to this realization.

"What news, my king?" one of the generals asked when Priam led his horse beside their small group.

Priam glanced at the army across the field and answered, "The war continues uninterrupted." His tone was slightly drawn, and Hector wondered if that meant his father did not approve of their participation or the continuation of this war. The young man unabashedly stared up at his father, and in response, Priam's blue eyes settled on his son for a moment. "Maintain your position. Keep the lines with our allies. We fight as one." The generals nodded though they already knew all of this, and Priam didn't necessarily say it for fear that they had forgotten. Hector's brow creased slightly. Was his father worried?

"If they want a war, we'll give them a war," Glaucus spoke up loudly with a smirk. The soldiers behind them who heard what he said granted him their approval. This made the general grin wider, and he called back to them, "I would match the best of Troy against the best of Thessaly any day." The soldiers shouted louder, and even Hector had to admit the man's words granted him an increased sense of confidence. In that moment, he was grateful to be a Glaucus' side.

Priam smiled at his men, and as before, his gaze fell on Hector for a brief second. "Show our allies the strength of Troy's army." With that, he turned his steed, and the army parted for him to join the kings at the back of the field. He had lingered too long anyway, and now Hector knew the moment had arrived. Though the other generals scattered to find their ranks, Hector remained with Glaucus at the front of the line with the foot soldiers.

"You won't join your father?" the general asked somewhere between taunting and seriousness. He was in a particularly good mood considering the upcoming battle.

Hector's gaze bore into him, and Glaucus' smile fell somewhat. "I will fight with my men," he assured the older man. His father no longer participated in battle due to his age, and Hector was only too pleased to act as an emissary on the field that day. Trojan royalty was not above running into battle beside their countrymen, and he wanted everyone gathered to know that. He would make his father and country proud, and with that resolve, he slipped on his helmet and shouldered his shield. Glaucus didn't say another word on the matter but stood proudly beside his crown prince as they faced the other army, waiting for the time to attack. A pregnant silence hung over the field, and the only sounds were that of the soldiers' slight movements, nervous shuffling, and minor adjustments to their placement. In the breath before the storm, Hector's nerves returned and twisted his stomach up in uneasy knots. The same questions flooded his head, and with his helmet muffling any outside noises, his heartbeat was louder than ever in his ears.

On the brink of being consumed by his stress, his thoughts focused on the tarnished gold pin attached at his waist where none would notice it. He wondered what Myrina was doing at that moment. Was she perhaps thinking of him and worrying about his safety? Their conversation the few days before he left ran through his mind, and he found solace in remembering their taunting and her concern for him. How long would it be before he saw her again? Before he was able to speak with her? Though he wouldn't admit it, he already missed her, but he would see her again once this war was finished. He pictured how she would smile when she saw him, and it lifted his spirits. Thinking briefly of his other friend, he glanced back over his shoulder to where Aeneas was standing with the group of Dardanians. Hector had never seen the young man so serious, and he recognized the slight anxiety lining his slender form because he felt it himself. Aeneas met his gaze from behind his helmet, and the two stared at each other for a minute. As a demi-god, Aeneas was undoubtedly afforded a certain amount of divine intervention that mere mortals like Hector didn't share. Still, Hector hoped his cousin would exit the fight uninjured.

"Easy, prince." The reassurance came from his right where Glaucus stood beside him. Hector normally would have been irritated that he was so easy to read, but he was too nervous and excited to feel anything else. Their eyes locked, and the general granted him a firm nod. Hector didn't say a word or return the gesture. He simply turned his attention to the foreign army yet again.

All at once the Thessalian army rushed forward, but the Thracian forces held off longer. Hector watched the soldiers sprinting toward him, and the foreboding wrapped across his chest, slowly contracting around his ribs until his breaths were shallow and uneven. The tension among the men behind him was palpable as they watched the army advance across the field. Then the call rang out, and they fell into step to meet the other army on the field. Every footfall echoed within his ears, and as they neared the middle of the field, the soldiers surrounding him faded into the periphery of his mind. Instead, his chestnut eyes were focused forward, searching out who would charge him first. The nerves torturing him fell to the back of his consciousness as he recognized the opportunity before him, patiently awaiting him. This was his time to rise to the occasion and meet his future head on. Suddenly, he felt like he was poised to jump as if that very moment were the start of his life. Behind him lay the innocence of his childhood, and the prince raced forward toward the glory of his evolution which bore the face of an older Greek soldier.

Time slowed as he crossed the final space, and he saw the man's mouth ajar in a battle cry. The Greek swung at Hector, and the prince monitored the blade's approach where it cut through the air at an alarmingly slow pace. In a second, the actions fast-forwarded, and Hector evaded the bronze blade with ease. The man quickly attacked again, but as before, Hector dodged it. He saw an opening, and his muscles tensed expectantly; but he hesitated. In his moment of triumph, he hesitated. Around him the world stopped for a split second, and he heard her voice of all things in his mind: 'Who are you to deal out death? Who are you to decide who should die and who should live?' His answer failed him when his eyes met the blue ones of the soldier whose blade was yet again angled toward the stunned prince. Hector's reaction was delayed, and he suddenly felt sluggish from the weight of his uncertain thoughts when he spun out of reach. However, he was not quick enough, and the tip of the Greek's sword caught his bicep and sliced open the skin. The wound was minimal, but it drew blood. At the sight, Hector snapped and moved so swiftly the Greek didn't even have time to react. The moves played before Hector's eyes in scattered bits and pieces, forming an almost incoherent account of his attack, and he didn't recognize immediately that he had driven his blade straight through the man's chest. The realization flooded him all at once, and he couldn't breathe as he looked down into the man's eyes and watched the life slip away from him. He retracted his blade, and the man fell to the ground. It was a clean death.

Before Hector's conscience could catch up to him, another soldier came at him, and he threw himself into the frenzy in the middle of the field. With the next man, Hector didn't hesitate and disposed of him quickly. He didn't even check whether it was a good death. Rather, he sprung forward with more fervor, but it was no longer in his search for glory. He was trying to outrun her voice in his head which threatened to betray his feelings for what he was doing. The prince became so withdrawn that he ceased counting how many men fell at his blade. He was swift and methodical with each calculated move, and he felt as though he weren't inside his body, owning every swing of his blade. He was a distant observer, monitoring his own brutality as a forgiving numbness fell over him. The ringing in his ears blocked out the sounds of battle, and all he was aware of was his breathing and every powerful beat of his heart. The tempo took on the roll of a war drum and beat out the rhythm of his advance through the lines of the Greek soldiers. He hadn't paused to notice that he had broken line and was a few feet in front of the Thracian forces. In fact, he likely wouldn't have figured this out without some unwarranted help.

A huge hand curled around his bicep where his arm was raised overhead to fall on another Greek soldier, and the Trojan prince was literally jerked back into reality when he was thrown backward several feet. Being a large man, Hector had never had anyone overcome him so easily, but perhaps if he had noticed the man sooner, he could have prepared himself. As it was, Hector landed roughly on his back and lost his helmet and sword. The gargantuan beast of a man approaching him might as well have thrown the prince into a bath of ice water. He was shocked back into the battle, and he was fully conscious of everything that happened around him: the sound of bronze blades meeting, howls of death, footfalls, and battle cries. His chestnut eyes were settled, however, solely on the largest man he had ever seen in his life. It stunned him momentarily before he realized the man was moving to attack him where he lay on the ground. Hector protected himself with his shield while he scrambled to find his sword. The man grabbed the edge of the prince's shield and savagely tore it from Hector's arm, and the prince barely had a grip on his hilt of his sword before he lifted it to block the giant's blade which was aimed for his head. The man was more powerful than Hector, and the prince was made aware of this far too late. The giant's strength overcame him, and the tip of his sword hit Hector above his brow, drawing a thin line down across his left eye and onto his cheek. It would have continued further, but Hector found his own strength and gritted his teeth as he held the blade in place. Blood trickled down from the wound and impeded his sight, so that he stared up at the giant through his one good eye. The man was riddled with scars and wore no armor on his chest or shoulders which clearly signified he had never been bested.

Staring into his battle hardened eyes, something awoke within Hector. This was his time, and he wasn't afraid. Resolve and determination steadied him, and adrenaline pumped through his muscles deeper than blood. He growled as he used his strength to lift the man's blade up while drawing in his knee between their forms. Without hesitation, Hector drove his heel into the man's gut, and the giant stumbled backward from the force. The prince moved fluidly and rolled forward onto his knees. The man swung at Hector, but he ducked his head, feeling the breeze as the bronze piece moved through his curls inches from his scalp. Once the blade passed by his head, he shot up with the hilt of his sword grasped in both his hands as they bent back behind his head, and he yelled when he threw his weight behind the blade, burying it deep into the man's abdomen. There was a moment of stillness among the chaos of battle where both recognized what had happened, but the giant didn't surrender so easily. He abandoned his sword, and his fingers wrapped around Hector's neck, applying gradual pressure with the last of his strength. He lifted Hector up onto his feet, but the prince didn't release his grip on the hilt of his sword. The air drained from his lungs, and his face turned red from the lack of oxygen. His muscles were tensing and shaking, but Hector twisted the blade where it was still lodged in the other man. Thick blood trickled out of the Greek's mouth in response. His grip loosened until Hector could break free of it, and he withdrew his sword and stumbled unsteadily backward. The man fell to his knees with his eyes watching Hector in his final moments before he collapsed into the dirt.

Hector's breath was shaky in the wake of nearly being choked, and his lungs burned against the air being forced into them. Around him, cheers suddenly broke out. In the midst of his combat, the Trojan and Thracian soldiers around him had paused to watch. Now the Trojans cried out proudly for their crown prince who had defeated one of Thessaly's best soldiers. Hector turned to look out over them, acknowledging their admiration, but he felt nothing aside from the fire in his lungs and the pressure of his heart beating beneath his chest. Soldiers rushed past him, but they were mere blurs in the periphery of the prince's gaze. Aeneas stepped forward from the crowd where he had evidently been advancing to help his cousin. He had a wide grin on his face, and he clapped Hector on the shoulder. "You fought well. How is your eye, cousin?"

The wound stung as sweat mixed with blood, but Hector felt too numb to pay it enough attention. At Aeneas' question, he opened his left eye to show that it was uninjured. Since Hector caught the giant's blade when he did, the tip of his sword had cut his brow and cheek, but it narrowly missed the socket. Once it scabbed over, it wouldn't bother the prince though it would undoubtedly leave a scar, a constant reminder of his first battle. Words evaded Hector in the immediate wake of combat, and he realized as an after thought that the Thessalian army had retreated at some point. Turning on his heel to face their departure, his eyes scanned the field where fallen soldiers were scattered unceremoniously upon the barren field. Their blood quenched the dry soil, and crows already descended from the sky to attack one unlucky soul's corpse. His stomach turned unexpectedly at the sight, and he swallowed his disgust.

The glory of war… There was nothing glorious about it.

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**Author's Note: **Hey dolls! The recommended songs are obviously a recent addition. It was just two songs I kept listening to over and over when I was writing the battle scene (I don't know why but I always listen to 30STM when I'm writing a fight scene), so I thought if you were interested, you could listen to them while reading or something haha Hope you liked this chapter xoxo


	11. How Much Longer

Chapter 10  
"How Much Longer"

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Recommended Songs: "The Mission" – 30 Seconds to Mars & "My Hero" – Foo Fighters

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Even with the Trojan's intervention, the war continued for more than a year. Had the Aetolians not joined the fight, undoubtedly the battle would have ceased much sooner, but as it was, Thoas led a fierce army of men who once in combat acted as a well-oiled machine. Hector found himself running into battle each time the army was called, and the men would cry out proudly as their crown prince cut his way through the Thessalian lines. He had proven himself to be a fierce warrior, and the Thessalian soldiers would push out of his way to avoid having to face him in combat. Through the fighting, he had become infamous and found his glory as he had always known he would. He bore the scar across his eye with pride, an eternal symbol of his evolution, and it was a constant reminder as well to those who looked upon it that even the crown prince of Troy would bleed beside his soldiers. This garnered him respect not only from the kings and generals but also from his men. The latter mattered more to Hector since they were the soldiers who ran with him into combat, and he was taught the importance of their loyalty in the midst of battle.

They had been fighting for the better part of the afternoon, and the Thessalian army would withdraw soon back toward Larissa. Hector was swift as he spun and cut his sword through the air, slicing open the Greek's throat who stood before him. The latter fell to the ground, and Hector turned to Aeneas who was a few feet away from him. They often enjoyed fighting side by side if only to taunt one another in a competitive manner. Lately, Aeneas had been prone to keeping count of their kills and reminding Hector every time he was falling behind. It was a morbid game, but after a year of fighting, Hector's initial disgust with battle had naturally waned. Though he still caught himself feeling disturbed when he considered the body count piling up from this war, he had simply become accustomed to it. War was old men talking, and young men dying. That was the way of things.

"Thirty-two!" Aeneas called out with a broad grin from behind his helmet.

Hector glanced down at the fallen soldier before him and rejoined, "Thirty-five!"

Aeneas' smile fell, and he swiftly reminded his friend with a hint of annoyance, "The two back there only counted as one. I will let you have thirty-four but no more."

Another soldier was thrown into his path, and Hector chuckled under his breath. "You may keep count, but I'm a little busy, cousin!" With that, the pair resumed their purpose and charged at the group of Thesslians being pushed to the front of the lines. The soldiers at the back had already begun to retreat, but it seemed they had one final strike left in them; and it came in the form of another contingent of Aetolian foot soldiers which surprised the Trojan forces from the left where they charged out of a narrow path. Another Greek soldier fell at his blade, and Aeneas pushed forward to catch up with his cousin and hopefully beat him. Hector's attention, however, was drawn to the left where the unsuspecting Trojans were being slaughtered. The lines broke, and they scrambled to meet the Aetolians who though small in numbers were fierce in battle.

"Euphemos!" Hector yelled out to the Ciconian king. The man paused in battle and turned to consider the prince who called him. Hector raised his sword and pointed to the left. "They need your spearmen!"

Euphemos looked toward the fight breaking out and cried out to his men, "Ciconians! Bear left!" The infamous spearmen followed their leader as he sprinted off to bolster the Trojans and keep the Aetolians from disrupting their lines completely.

Hector turned to his friend, and the Dardanian had already read his thoughts without a word being spoken between them. Aeneas gave him a curt nod with an excited grin displayed across his features, and around them, the Thracian and Trojan soldiers were pushing forward to force the Thessalains to retreat. Rather than following, the pair rushed off to the left to aid their people and fight off the Aetolians. Another Thessalian charged at him, but Hector was sprinting forward with too much speed to bother with a stray soldier. He bent down slightly with his shield in front, catching the soldier around his stomach and throwing him on top of his shield and over into the hungry Thracian forces waiting behind him. Another Thessalian rushed him, but Hector deflected his blade with his shield, pausing only briefly to bury his sword into the soldier behind him. The Trojan prince wouldn't allow his momentum to halt when he heard his men crying out in the distance. He pushed forward, catching another soldier's blade with his shield and twisting out of reach to elbow a soldier onto the ground. His allies behind him took care of the rest while he continued after his cousin who had already engaged his first Aetolian. Hector wasn't one to be left behind, and he sliced open a final Thessalian's chest with his dark eyes situated on his next victim. The Aetolian who sprinted forward was brave but stupid. The Trojan prince moved fluidly and swiftly, but his strike had such a force driving it when it hit the foreigner's chest that the Aetolian's legs were swept out from under him. He landed roughly on his back and screamed against the pain while the blood poured out of the deep wound. Without hesitation, Hector drove his sword down into his chest, ending his last struggle against death.

Aeneas was a few feet ahead of him, and Hector pushed around to his right, stopping an Aetolian whose sword was poised to strike his cousin. "You're still here?" Aeneas taunted before slicing open the Aetolian's chest who had attacked him first, driving his heel into his abdomen, and pushing him back into the other soldiers. They unwittingly caught their injured cargo and were forced back a few paces.

"Someone has to watch your back," Hector shot back as he threw the Aetolian's blade off of his own and pierced his sword through the man's chest. As the man fell, Hector saw one of his soldiers charged by two Aetolians and thrown backward onto the ground. He swung his shield, knocking one of them to the ground, but the other took the opportunity to drive his sword down toward his chest. The Trojan cringed, expecting the inevitable, but a bronze blade cut through the Aetolian's neck, stopping his advance. His own crown prince withdrew the blade, and the Aetolian crumbled to the ground. Hector then considered the injured Trojan and offered his hand. Numbly and still in shock, the soldier took Hector's hand, and the latter pulled him back up to his feet. Then Hector granted him a firm nod in response to his surprise as if to silently encourage him to snap out of it, but the Trojan's eyes weren't on Hector's face. Instead, his features fell in awestruck horror, and he immediately placed a hand on Hector's shoulder, forcing them both down as a bronze blade cut through the air inches from Hector's head.

Hector spun on his heel and shot up to face his latest enemy. The Aetolian backed away a few feet from the prince, and the plume on his helmet hinted at his status; but Hector wouldn't be intimidated by a general or commander –especially not one who had attacked him while his back was turned. Coward. He glared at him fiercely from behind his helmet, and the two began circling each other, carving out a slender circle of space for them to fight in. Around them, soldiers paused to watch the battle unfolding. Judging by the way the Aetolians tensed, Hector guessed his enemy was someone important in their ranks, but as before, the prince did not care. The man instigated the fight, but Hector would be sure to end it. Spurred by his thoughts, his eyes darkened, and the two men suddenly advanced toward each other. Hector watched intently with his muscles tensed in preparation to evade any movements from the other man.

The Aetolian swung with his shield, and Hector caught it with his own, using the momentum to twist away and face the Greek once more. Already his sword was cutting upward through the air, but Hector bent back, narrowly dodging the blow. He sprung forward once it had passed and swung down at the man who barely side stepped the attack. His bronze blade shone in the sun as he swung it at the prince, and Hector quickly deflected it with his shield. Keeping his shield in place, Hector dug his feet into the ground and pushed the man, causing him to tumble back several paces. The prince's breathing was drawn, and his eyes were dark from the day spent at war. The Aetolian took a moment to regain his bearings and yelled as he charged at Hector once more. This time, the prince held his ground until the man was only a few feet in front of him. He spun out of reach as the Aetolian flew past and took the offensive. The Aetolian barely turned in time to see the blow aimed at him, and as he evaded it, the tip of Hector's blade sliced open his thigh. He cried out in pain and stumbled back unsteadily. With a glance at his injured leg, he growled under his breath and discarded his shield which would have only added more of a burden. In response, Hector threw his off if only to face him on equal grounds. There was no valor to be had from defeating an Aetolian general or commander when he had an unfair advantage. No, Hector wouldn't let something so menial take his glory that day.

The Aetolian gritted his teeth against the pain but clearly had no intention of surrendering. Instead, he dropped his sword and held out his hand. A soldier tossed him a spear, and he immediately stabbed at Hector. The prince suddenly wished he hadn't dropped his shield so quickly. He dodged the advance, but by that time, the Aetolian had already retracted his arm and was springing forward with another blow. Hector tilted as swiftly as he could, but the edge of the spear barely grazed the right side of his neck. The wound was minimal, but it was a warning that the Aetolian was quick and dangerous with the new weapon. Hector knew he would have to find a way to disarm him, or on his next stab, the Trojan could be impaled by the spear. The Aetolian jabbed again, but Hector was prepared and barely missed it, locking the spear between his left side and his arm. His left hand grabbed hold of the spear, and he pulled with all his force. The Aetolian wouldn't release the spear, but he seemed to realize he was caught. He couldn't charge Hector since the prince still had his sword, but he couldn't dislodge his spear either.

Reluctantly, he released his grip on the spear, and Hector tossed it to the side, out of his reach. The Aetolian looked around for some sort of weapon, and one of his men tossed a sword in his direction. Hector didn't move to stop him, clearly giving him room to retrieve the weapon if he so desired. The Aetolian noticed this and seemed to reconsider his actions before he abandoned his battle stance and stood tensely in front of Hector. He removed his helmet, and Hector paused momentarily before he followed suit. The two stared at each other now that their faces were revealed, taking in the other's appearance, and the Aetolian spoke up suddenly, "Who are you?"

Hector's eyes narrowed against the bright sun over head, and he answered, "Hector, son of Priam."

"The Trojan prince." It wasn't a question, but Hector's silence was confirmation. The Aetolian grew more grave as he realized he was fighting such a significant individual. "I am Ilioneus... son of Thoas."

Hector had never faced another prince in battle before. Evidently the sons of Triopas either did not choose to fight or hid at the back of the lines. Thus, he considered Ilioneus with a hint of respect for being a man of royalty who fought beside his men. For this reason did Hector decide, "There has been enough fighting for one day. Collect your dead and leave. No one will stop you." The Aetolian prince subtly winced at being commanded by another, but Hector had not meant it in a malicious way. The utter reality was that the Aetolians would be slaughtered if they stayed and fought, so there was no other option. Ilioneus swallowed his pride and motioned for his men, and they began moving through the lines. The Trojans and Thracians stood down, but they were intently watching Hector in case the prince changed his mind. Hector, however, saw no need to continue the fight, not now that he knew it was the Aetolian prince. At that moment, he was incredibly grateful that neither had been successful in the fight. Had he killed Ilioneus, Aetolia would attack Troy with such a furious vengeance. It had been a stroke of good luck, and he offered up a prayer to whichever god had watched over him that day.

Ilioneus moved forward with his men, but he paused beside the Trojan prince and said, "I hope our paths never cross on the battlefield again."

"I have no need to kill a prince," Hector commented.

"Nor do I." Without another word, Ilioneus continued retreating with his men, and Hector glanced over his shoulder to watch them depart.

Likewise the crowd of Trojan and Thracian soldiers around them began to disband and head back toward the camps. The Thessalian army had retreated as Hector had known they would. The prince scanned the faces of the men lingering around him, and he recognized the injured Trojan soldier who had saved him from almost being decapitated. He approached the man and asked, "What is your name, Trojan?"

The young man straightened before his crown prince and bowed his head respectfully as he answered, "Lysander, son of Theramenes."

Without hesitation, Hector earnestly admitted, "I am grateful for your help today."

The man glanced up at the prince to see if he was speaking the truth, and he appeared stunned that Hector was thanking him. Spurred by some abrupt self-confidence, the soldier peered up at Hector, and rejoined, "I am honored, my lord… to fight at your side."

One corner of Hector's mouth lifted in an incomplete smile, and the compliment filled him with a sense of pride -especially since it came from one of his own soldiers. There was no deceit in his eyes, and Hector found himself uncertain how to respond appropriately. At length, he clapped the soldier on the shoulder as a sign of their recently found solidarity and rejoined, "As am I." He then turned away from the stunned soldier and headed back toward the camps to wash up and rest.

It had been a long day of battle, and the prince's muscles ached from his exertions. However, in the year at war, he had grown stronger physically as well as mentally. Hector had arrived on the shores of Greece a young man, but he had changed in many ways since then. From days spent at battle, his body had strengthened further, evening out his tall form with broad shoulders and developed muscles. He proved an intimidating man with his height and strength even to those who were unaware of his prowess in battle. The prince was proud of his transformation in the past year, and walking through the camps, he noticed how the people watched him, and it gave him a distinct sense of satisfaction.

Acamas happened to be heading in his direction, and his face lit up in a broad grin when he saw the Trojan prince. "Hector," he called out amiably.

"Acamas," Hector returned in greeting with a smile.

Acamas was in a hurry to speak with Dryas, but he patted Hector on the chest as they passed and called back at him, "You fought well today. A few more months, and we'll have won this war!" Hector chuckled under his breath. Acamas was constantly promising the war would be ended in a matter of months, but Hector saw no such future on the horizon. Triopas and Thoas were much too stubborn to surrender after only a year.

Continuing his trek toward his tent, he saw a familiar Thracian king step around the corner. "Euphemos," Hector said to get the man's attention, and the king turned to consider him. "My men are thankful for the aid of your soldiers."

"Without the Ciconians' spears, they would be dining in Hades," Euphemos answered with a hint of amusement to his voice.

This caused Hector to grin, and he shot back, "Instead it is the Aetolians, my friend."

To this, Euphemos sarcastically raised the cup of water he was drinking out of and tilted his head back in acknowledgment. "We will make the boatman wait a little longer, Prince Hector."

Hector couldn't agree more, and he was grateful for the allies he had made through this war. Though war was trying for both sides involved, this had been the right thing to do. Troy had no need to risk her alliance with these tribes, and Hector was glad he had a hand in maintaining these bonds. With this train of thought, he found his tent and slipped inside, grateful for a chance to rest in solitude. Unfortunately, he had a visitor waiting for him when he entered, and the old man turned expectantly toward him. "Father," Hector breathed with a hint of surprise. They didn't often see each other outside of meetings to discuss war strategy since Hector was normally in battle or recovering and Priam kept with the other kings.

"You've been injured," Priam returned with his blue eyes on the cut at Hector's neck.

It took the prince a minute to remember it since it was such a meager wound, but he drew a finger across the thin incision, causing it to sting. Ignoring the slight pain, he sat on the edge of his cot and began unlacing his skin guards. "It is barely a scratch." It was cooler inside the shade of his tent, and his skin tingled as he removed each piece of armor in turn, allowing the damp skin underneath to breathe.

"You called for the Ciconian spearmen to help our soldiers today," Priam acknowledged, and where he was going with this conversation, only he knew.

Hector was intrigued, but at that particular moment, he was too tired to guess what his father's end game was. "Our soldiers were ambushed by an Aetolian contingent. The Ciconians were the closest group who could aid them." While he spoke, he unlatched the cuffs at his wrists and unceremoniously deposited them beside his shin guards.

"You have surprised me, Hector." That one sentence alone made the prince stop dead in his tracks and peer up at his father, trying to read his intent in his eyes. Was it maliciousness? Priam was not one to often compliment Hector, and so the prince found himself assuming the worst. He untied the leather slung across his chest which attached to his sheath and tossed it aside as well. Priam realized his son wouldn't speak and explained, "You thought quickly and acted with haste. You made an important decision today."

Hector's eyes narrowed curiously. As far as he was concerned, it had been a rather simple decision. In fact, he had made much more difficult, trying, and confusing choices in this year at war, but this was the one his father took notice of? Still, Hector didn't say a word, and he removed his chest plate. Once it was detached, he breathed deeply, enjoying the freedom of movement without the weight of his armor. His blue undershirt clung to him from the sweat that had accumulated underneath his armor, but Hector would worry about that later. For now, he was comfortable enough and straightened to consider his father fully. "It surprises you that I called on the Ciconians?"

"You commanded a king." Priam's gaze was intense as he peered at his son. Despite how openly he looked at Hector, the younger man couldn't read his father's intent.

"I did not command a king," he clarified easily. "I asked an ally for help." He wanted to be sure the difference was made clear. There was a moment of silence where Hector tried to understand what his father's purpose in speaking with him was. Unfortunately, he couldn't get a handle on it, so he waited patiently for Priam to reveal what he was thinking.

"When you discussed wanting to come to Greece, I thought you were being selfish -that you only wanted to go to war to satisfy your own curiosity and boredom." Priam spoke slowly and deliberately so that with every word, Hector's anticipation grew. He mentally willed his father to be quick about it and spit out whatever it was he wanted to say. "Somehow you have managed to correct my hasty judgment. I have been training you to become a man worthy of leading the Trojan people, but I never anticipated that you would assume the characteristics so early in life. I thought you much less capable than you have proven yourself to be." Hector's jaw nearly dropped, and he ceased breathing completely as if one stray breath might shatter this moment between them. It couldn't be reality. His father never spoke so candidly with him. "But you must learn to serve before you can lead. You should choose your words wisely even in battle. Not every king will be so understanding when you call on them as if they are your subordinates."

The last statement was a complete turn from where he expected the conversation to go, but he should have known better than to hope that this would be a discussion applauding Hector for his behavior. The beginning had merely thrown him off the scent, but as usual, his father admonished him for any possible fault. Hector's fury flared without warning, and for once, the prince did not hold his tongue. "Euphemos knew that I was asking for his help and thought nothing beyond that. You find an ulterior motive in a man's breath. I wonder how you sleep each night when you are so afraid of someone stabbing a knife into your back if you roll over."

Priam lifted his chin slightly, and a stray ray of light slipped past the leather at the entrance of his tent, granting the inside enough light that Hector could finally see the anger in his father's ice blue eyes. Usually, Hector would be respectful, follow any direction his father gave him, and submit to his father's power, but the prince had had enough of blindly following him. He would no longer allow himself to be treated as a child when he deserved some respect even from his father. Priam stood then, and Hector followed suit if only to remind his father that he was larger. It was a petty manner of expressing strength and a certain amount of dominance, but Hector's silent frustration had compounded over the years, guiding him toward this one moment where he would not back down. Instead, the prince literally stood before him, wordlessly beckoning him to make another comment about his actions. Priam noted the shift in his son's behavior, but he did not speak a word about it.

"You are young, and you trust a man's word; but we cannot afford trust, Hector. Never forget that wolves are always hungry and await any opportunity for a quick meal. Even Euphemos would spear you if it served some purpose for him. Heed my words, or you can learn the truth yourself when your own friend betrays you. Do not be so foolish as to think it will not happen one day." Priam's tone was laced with venom, and Hector nearly trembled from the fury his father had incited within him. Priam, however, had no intention of allowing his son the final word. Rather, the old King of Troy turned and abandoned his son's tent.

Their unexpected conversation left Hector pensive, uncertain, and annoyed in its wake. For several minutes, he sat back on his cot in silence after his father left, simply replaying the words exchanged over and over in his mind. At length, he undressed and poured some water down his back and chest to remove the sweat, dirt, and blood from his skin. The water was cool to his heated form, and he splashed some on his face as well. Once he was fairly clean, he donned a pair of blue robes and decided to visit his cousin Aeneas. Surely he could take Hector's mind off of the bizarre exchange, and he was also curious what Aeneas thought about the battle that day. It was a relatively short walk to the Dardanian camp, and Hector nodded in greeting to the soldiers sitting around outside. He restrained a grimace as a now familiar smell hit his nostrils: burning flesh. A glance to his right revealed two men holding down an injured soldier while a third man pressed the red hot blade of his sword against a wound on the man's chest. A piece of leather in the injured soldier's mouth muffled his howls of pain. It was a brutal way to suture a wound, but in times of war, men often fell victim to such torturous methods. The Trojan prince turned away and located his cousin's tent with ease.

He carelessly push the leather flaps at the entrance aside and ducked his head while stepping inside. The moment, however, that he saw what was going on within the tent, he froze in shock. Of course he should have known better, but he was not thinking clearly in the wake of his conversation with his father. There was his cousin, completely naked, and hovering over a Bisaltae woman while he went about his business. The woman happened to notice Hector since his cousin was preoccupied and screamed at the stranger who had entered the tent. The prince swiftly exited without hesitation, and all the color drained from his face. He never wished to see that much of his cousin, and he roughly rubbed a hand over his face, attempting to wipe away the memory. Unfortunately the image had been seared into his brain, and he growled irritably under his breath. By now, he had paused outside Aeneas' tent, and he acknowledged this was a scenario where retreat was a viable option. He doubted his cousin would cease before he had his release in any case. The thought sent a shudder of disgust down Hector's spine, and he visibly grimaced when the image flashed before his eyes. Aeneas had certainly taken his mind off of the discussion with his father, but this was not at all how Hector had intended to forget: he had expected there to be talk of battle or perhaps wine. Several moments later, the Bisaltae woman sprinted out of the tent with her dress barely on, and Aeneas followed with a piece of material loosely wrapped around his waist.

The demi-god grumbled under his breath and turned to see his cousin. "You've scared her off... I liked her," Aeneas said with a hint of annoyance.

Hector was still scarred from the scene he had walked in on, but he quickly rejoined, "There is not a woman you do not like."

Aeneas considered such a comment briefly before smiling at his cousin and formulating some new plan in his head. "Her sister _is_ fairer."

"We are at war, and you are more concerned with wooing women." Normally he would have chuckled at his cousin's behavior, but for the time being, Hector seemed less than amused.

"What use would I be in combat were I not able to clear my mind and enjoy myself at night?" Aeneas grinned wolfishly.

Hector raised his brow dubiously as he commented, "You already fight like a woman."

"How can you even see me in battle, cousin? You are always so far behind."

"Cleaning up the mess you make. You blindly charge through the lines, and I'm left to handle the men you leave behind."

"I leave the petty soldiers to you. I prefer a greater challenge."

"Challenge?" Hector scoffed. "Perhaps you find the foot soldiers a challenge."

"That is you, cousin."

"I did not see you fighting the Prince of Aetolia this afternoon."

At the reminder, Aeneas pointed out, "You could have captured him. Thoas might have abandoned this war if it meant having his son returned to him."

Hector had not considered that option earlier, but he thought the possibility over for a time before deciding, "I doubt once the prince was returned that Aetolia would remain an observer. From what I have heard, Thoas is vengeful."

Aeneas nodded in agreement and commented, "I do not think this war will be finished soon."

"Nor do I," Hector returned.

"So long as we claim victory in the end, I will remain and fight."

The Trojan prince smirked. "A few more months, and you will have run out of Bisaltae companions."

"Then I will start on the Pieres tribe," Aeneas rejoined without hesitation. This caused Hector to laugh heartily, and Aeneas clapped his friend on the shoulder. With that, he disappeared back into the confines of his tent and finally managed to dress himself to Hector's relief. He never wished to see so much of his cousin again. They soon joined his soldiers outside and met the night with cups of wine in hand. It was easy to forget his argument with his father when he was surrounded by the soldier's rowdiness.

However, once night fell, he was alone yet again within the confines of his tent, lying on his back on his cot and staring up toward the black top overhead. He absentmindedly tossed the gold pin while he thought through all the events that had happened in the past year, and when he caught the pin next, he held it in his hand and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. It had become a calming ritual for him at night, and he wondered how long it would be before his saw his home, family, and friends again. Already he had grown tired of war and wished for some sort of break. Considering the pin in the dim light, he inevitably thought of the young girl who had given it to him and wondered how she had fared this past year. He liked to think that she was happy, and that the gods had smiled on her family, granting her father and brothers luck in their catches. There was some part of him that hoped she hadn't outgrown their friendship. Would he return to Troy once this war had run its course to find that she no longer wished to see him? With such a train of thought, it was hours before his exhaustion overcame him, and sleep granted him a momentary reprieve from the violence of his world.

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**Author's Note**: Hey lovies! Feel free to make fun of me for using "My Hero" as one of the recommended songs, but I couldn't help myself. It came on shuffle on my iPod while I was writing this chapter, and I was like YEA! Hahaha I'm such a dork. A very, very big thank you to AmyLNelson! Your review seriously made my day, so thank you for taking the time out to give me some feedback! When I started writing this story, I really wanted to do something different from your run of the mill Hector love story sooooo you telling me it's original is like the biggest compliment you could give me :D I hope you liked this chapter and will continue reading. Hector will return to Troy in the next chapter, and that is when the real fun begins! xoxo


	12. Wake for Young Souls

Chapter 11  
"Wake for Young Souls"

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Recommended Songs: "The First Day of My Life" – Bright Eyes & "April Fool" – Manchester Orchestra

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It had been nearly three years since Myrina had last seen her friend, and each passing month increased her distress. Surely it was not a good sign that he had been gone for so long. For a period, Myrina had feared that the soldiers had in fact returned, and Hector had merely chosen not to visit her. Since she was a distance from the capital and female, she was not often kept up to date on affairs in Troy though occasionally she caught conversations between her father and brothers or heard village gossip. Aside from that, she was left ignorant, and it frustrated her that she was mainly blind as to how Hector was faring. Had he been injured in war? Or worse killed? She couldn't allow herself to consider the latter: it caused her far too much pain. It wasn't until Hector had left that Myrina truly became aware of what a reprieve he had given her from the dull, repetitive nature of her life. His mere presence offered a change in her daily affairs, and their discussions gave her something to look forward to. Without him, she had easily grown bored and restless. Of course being a woman, she had no means to expel this annoyance and was forced to shoulder her burden silently.

Isidora seemed delighted that the prince no longer came to visit her, and she was further pleased by how Myrina had calmed over the years. The childish fire that had burned so fiercely within her had ultimately provided Isidora with the daily task of attempting to quell it as best she could. Time without the prince's company had affected Myrina in a way that Isidora never had the power to, and though she naturally was concerned by Myrina's sadness, she was happy that Myrina seemed to finally be developing into an acceptable young girl. Maybe now she would be able to find a suitable match, marry, and live a peaceful life. Such a fate could only be available if Myrina abandoned her childish fantasies and inappropriate friendship. In fact, the servant hoped the prince never returned. It would be the best thing for Myrina. Naturally, the girl did not share this desire with Isidora, and though she hid it will, the fire within her could not be snuffed out so easily. She still yearned for excitement and adventure, but she wore a mask each day to keep others from seeing it. As Isidora had told her long ago, hiding her true feelings had proved an advantageous trait, but Myrina would never be happy if this were her life. How could any find satisfaction in living a lie?

More over, Myrina had never been so religious as after the Trojan prince left for war. Each night when alone in her room, she prayed to Apollo, Ares, Zeus, and any god in the Pantheon who would watch out for her friend. With age, her prayers became less selfish. Rather than begging the gods to return her friend to her, she asked that they simply keep him safe and allow him to return to Troy where he could live a long life. Even if she never saw him again, she wished the best for him, but she was easily disheartened by the idea that he would not visit her. It, however, made sense to the girl. It had been three years, and he had undoubtedly grown considerably. Why would he wish to see her when she had proven herself to be so immature and irresponsible in the time before he left for war? Did he even remember her? Their friendship had been yet another of her childish fantasies which could never truly come to fruition. Though she held onto the memory of him, he had likely long forgotten her.

The marketplace was crowded to the brim that particular afternoon, and Alkaios led the way through the throngs of people. Aeton had taken them to the city so that he could speak about business with a friend, and he had agreed to find Myrina and Alkaios in the market once he had finished his business. Myrina, unlike her two older brothers, was not particularly tall, and the only muscles she sported were from carrying out common chores. Consequently, her short, gaunt form was easily battered in the crowd, and Alkaios had taken her wrist and was navigating their way to the appropriate stands. Myrina balanced a basket in the crook of her free arm and leant the weight against her side, attempting to avoid anyone knocking the contents out onto the ground. Finally, they reached a gap in the throng, and Myrina unwittingly pressed herself up against Alkaios to keep the two from being separated. At the feeling, he glanced over his shoulder down at her with a grin.

"I haven't lost you yet?" he quipped.

Myrina glared up at him. Being a young, unmarried woman, it was not ideal to roam the marketplace without a chaperone –even one as dimwitted as Alkaios. Men could take advantage of her solitude, and her father had warned her of several unfortunate encounters with other young women. The tales were enough to strike fear in her heart, and she kept close to her brother for good measure. All of a sudden, there was an unannounced commotion to their left, and Myrina raised herself up onto the balls of her feet, straining for a glimpse as to what had caused such a fuss.

"What's happening?" she asked Alkaios.

His eyes shone in amusement when they considered her next. "A thief nearly stole a man's chicken."

Myrina smiled and giggled under her breath at the idea. How could someone possibly think they could steal a chicken, and where would they hide it? She grabbed his hand then to pull him toward another stand. "We need lentils," she called over her shoulder in explanation for their abrupt change in direction. She returned her gaze forward, but her advance was soon hindered by a large man who had stepped out in front of her and was idling while looking at something. Alkaios realized too late that she had stopped and collided into the back of her, stepping on her heel and ultimately causing her to fall forward into the man before them. She squealed and instinctively clung to the man to keep from falling onto the ground though the contents of her basket scattered around them. With her firm grip around his waist, her face was buried in his lower back, and she was stunned as she realized what she had just done and furthermore her current position.

"Are you hurt?" a deep baritone asked from above her.

Myrina had never been so close to a man before since she didn't think hugging her brothers or father counted, and her heart unintentionally picked up its pace at the close proximity. Her gaze travelled self-consciously up his blue shirt to meet his matching pair of eyes. The simultaneous concern and amusement in them caused her to blush fiercely, and she was grateful when her brother helped right her and set her on her feet. "No," she answered in embarrassment, trying to keep their exchange as short as possible so that she wouldn't shame herself further. "I'm sorry. I tripped." She quickly knelt beside her brother then without another word and began gathering the discarded contents of her basket.

"Perhaps if you weren't so small, people would be able to see you," Alkaios taunted his sister.

"Not all of us can be giant brutes," she quickly rejoined in annoyance as she brusquely threw various objects back into the basket. Then her breath caught at the sound of chuckle nearby. Her head lifted in search of the source, and there was the man squatting before her and offering her one of the fallen apples from the basket. She recognized then that he was not as old as she had initially thought, merely tall with broad shoulders. His face, however, did not yet bear the lines of age, though he was evidently older than Alkaios. By how much Myrina could not say, but she noticed only too late how impossibly handsome he was. Had she realized it sooner, perhaps should could have prepared herself better. As it was, his sky blue eyes where they were nestled beneath golden curls completely disarmed her, and she realized after several tense minutes had passed that she had been staring at him without moving or saying a word. She snapped herself out of it immediately and grabbed the fruit from his hand. "Thank you," she added as an after thought. "I apologize for earlier." She stood up once more with her basket at her side, and the man followed suit.

He answered without pause, "How can I mind when a beautiful woman crashes into me?"

The compliment caused Myrina to blush a deeper shade of pink, and she lowered her chin completely to her chest. No one had ever told her she was beautiful. "I am sorry," Alkaios spoke up from behind her. "My sister can be clumsy at times." Myrina would have elbowed him in the gut for making her sound like such an incompetent fool if it did not require twisting away from the man before her and possibly revealing her flushed face.

"It is no matter," the man assured him in that rich baritone. "I only wonder who the Fates have brought to me so abruptly." He paused expectantly, and Myrina realized he was looking at her and furthermore asking for her name.

She took a courageous breath and lifted her eyes from her feet to meet his blue orbs once more, and she smiled coyly. "Myrina," she answered so softly it was almost inaudible.

"Myrina," he repeated, and his lips parted in an amused smile down at her. Evidently he enjoyed her shyness, and what that meant Myrina did not wish to know. It caused her to blush even more, and she swiftly returned her gaze to her feet in a vain attempt to hide it.

"And who are you to ask for the name of my sister?" Alkaios asked, and Myrina was surprised by his hardened tone of voice.

"Aeneas, son of Anchises," he answered.

There was a pregnant pause where both Myrina and Alkaios realized the significance of his name. Alkaios wondered in a more respectful tone to be safe, "Aeneas of Dardania?"

"Yes."

"My lord, I apologize," Alkaios said and bowed his head while Myrina wondered how best to merge with the ground beneath her. She was glad, however, that the attention had been drawn from her to her brother, and she finally allowed herself to lift her gaze once the blood drained from her cheeks. Her neck was grateful for the reprieve. Aeneas noted her change in stature by briefly meeting her gaze, but to her relief, he did no more.

"Peace," Aeneas assured Alkaios, but his gaze flickered down to Myrina once more. "You should be more careful."

"Yes, my lord," she said softly because she feared it would seem abrasive if she didn't speak at all.

Alkaios wished he could say something to the man standing before them whose gaze kept falling to Myrina, but he could not voice his distaste to the Dardanian prince. Still, he did not appreciate the attention Aeneas granted Myrina who was so clearly embarrassed by it. "We should find Aeton," Alkaios murmured to his little sister. Myrina was grateful for the escape route though she knew it was still far too early in the afternoon for Aeton to be searching for them. Without speaking, she backed away toward her brother, and he addressed Aeneas a final time, "Pardon my sister's clumsiness, my lord." The prince didn't speak a word, and the two excused themselves finally. Alkaios practically drug Myrina away, and she struggled not to trip again in her attempt to keep up with his pace. Despite herself, she glanced over her shoulder to see Aeneas watching their retreat. When their gazes met, he granted her a wolfish grin and managed to make Myrina blush a final time.

Even a day later Myrina still cringed at her behavior when she replayed the events over in her head. She was grateful, however, that there was no chance she would ever likely encounter the Dardanian prince again. With a heavy sigh, Myrina considered the bounty from their latest trip to the market and began planning what she would cook for supper that evening. Scanning her eyes over the various items gathered on the kitchen table, she realized she had forgotten to pick up some herbs. The insignificant lapse in memory irritated her for some reason, and she easily blamed it on her embarrassing encounter with the prince who had distracted her completely from her purpose in the market even after she left him. The young girl considered the servant who was already rearranging items from where Myrina had placed them around the kitchen. "Could you ask Chryseis if she has any cooking spices she could spare? Tell her we will repay her should she need anything."

Isidora grumbled under breath. With her old age, she was becoming easily petulant more and more often. Myrina simply stared at her in silence, and the servant caved but not without a comment about the girl's absentminded nature: "You should be more attentive. You are too young to be so forgetful."

"You forget what I have said but a moment after I have spoken it," Myrina shot back without hesitation. Within her blue-green eyes was a glimpse of the fire inside her. Isidora's chiding and nagging often had a way of stoking it, but the girl tucked it away as quickly as it had flared.

"I have the excuse of old age," the woman pointed out easily with her eyes narrowing suspiciously. For a time, she stared intently at Myrina, waiting to see if the flash of defiance would return, but Myrina did not meet her gaze. Eventually, she headed out the door to attend to her latest task and grumbled under her breath something inaudiable about young women and their shifting moods.

"Old age and bitterness," the young girl murmured under her breath so low that she knew Isidora wouldn't catch it. She began chopping up vegetables, but Isidora had only been gone a second before she rushed back inside with wide eyes.

"Someone is stealing the horse!" she cried out frantically, and the urgency in the lines of her face convinced Myrina it was no trick. With this unexpected news, Myrina's anger returned twofold. Their family was poor enough without someone stealing their horse. It was old, but they needed the steed. They could not walk to Troy when they needed to go to market, and they did not have the money at that particular time to buy another horse. Rather than hiding within the home away from the supposed thief, her eyes landed on the bushel of apples they had purchased the day before. She swept them up into her arms and ran out the door while Isidora cried out from behind her, "Myrina! What are you doing! Stay inside!"

Myrina ignored her warnings and turned the corner around their home to the fenced area where the horse was kept. As Isidora had led her to believe, a large, cloaked man was bent over beside their horse, but Myrina could not tell exactly what he was doing. It was no matter in any case. He had no reason to be on their land or bothering their horse. Myrina sprinted toward him with more speed now that she had her sights set on the crook, and though she dropped a few apples along the way, she had plenty of ammo to finish her purpose. With his back to her, she took the offensive, grabbed an apple, twisted back, and threw it with every bit of strength she had. It hit the man square in his upper back, and he cried out in surprise. Without hesitation, she threw another, hitting his shoulder this time. "Leave, you sack of wine!" she cried out angrily with another apple in hand. The man's cloak had been knocked forward over his head and shoulders from the force of one of her blows, and he scrambled to pull it back while still being pelted with apple after apple. "How dare you rob a poor fisherman! You disgusting swine!"

Finally he was able to draw back his cloak, and he faced the girl with his eyes ablaze in annoyance. "It's me!" he hissed back venomously.

Myrina had her final apple in hand and was poised to chuck it, but seeing his face and hearing his voice, she was stunned to the point that she nearly looked like a statue of pure shock. The man standing before her bore the familiarity of the young man she had grown to know very well though he had changed so much. The remainder of her young friend was but a shadow lining the man's handsome features. For good measure, she tossed the apple as a final test, and the man caught it before it hit his face. Behind it he growled angrily that she still did not believe him, but only a second later he was forced to drop it in order to catch the girl who jumped into his arms. Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck with such a force that it nearly choked him. Rather than shucking her off, he simply chuckled into her hair and held her tightly against him. Her feet dangled off the ground considering the difference in their sizes, but he barely noticed the weight of her in his arms. The raw emotions overwhelmed her to such a degree that she buried her face in his neck and clung to him with her fingers digging desperately into the taught muscles of his back. In that moment, she was a torrent of relief, happiness, excitement, recollection, and so much more than she couldn't even explain. The sheer force with which she recognized and remembered him was so intense that it was a wonder the pure emotions didn't tear her in two.

Finally, Myrina dared to release him if only to get a better look at him, and he gently set her down on her feet with a broad grin on his face when he felt her grip around his neck loosen. Her small hands cupped his cheeks as she peered up at him with such overwhelming happiness and excitement that she was nearly trembling before him. Her blue-green eyes danced across his features, and he welcomed her thorough inspection with a hint of amusement. It was reminiscent of the way she had greeted him so many years ago when they met under much more trying circumstances. Once more there was a case of mistaken identities, but it didn't matter. They were finally reunited, and as before, they received each other with elation and enthusiasm. Myrina did not think it could be possible, but he was even taller than she remembered. Likewise, he had grown beyond his height, and his muscles had developed so much so that he appeared Herculean before her –almost how she might imagine a god would look. A thick, dark beard traced his strong jaw, and his chestnut curls hung lower down the nape of his neck. Naturally, she noticed the mark of his first battle, and one finger carefully followed the scar where it fell across his brow and down onto his cheek. Somehow it fit his face perfectly, and it did not disrupt the handsomeness of his features. In fact, it seemed as though it should always have been there, and she briefly wondered how he had garnered the mark. Surely he would tell her, but for the moment, she was content simply being near him and acknowledging that he was not a figment of her imagination.

"Hector," she breathed barely above a whisper, and his eyes warmed in acknowledgment of his name. "I've missed you." With the admission, her face lit up in the brightest smile he had ever seen.

Finally seeing the young girl he had been thinking about for so long had a similar effect on him, and his worn hands cradled her elbows to steady her where she was still standing on the balls of her feet to reach his face. He ran his thumb gently over her skin and confessed, "I've missed you as well." Normally he would have been more guarded, but he was so happy to see her that the words fell from his lips without his even realizing it.

"Come," she commanded and stepped away from him and toward the house. "We have so much to discuss." Her excitement was palpable, and it caused Hector to chuckle lightly under his breath. She did not even ask what he was doing with their horse, but evidently that was not important at the moment. There were much more dire things to talk about since they had spent so much time apart, and she had meant it so long ago when she had told him she would want to hear everything about his journey. Hector had imagined this moment, but he had not thought she would even seem this elated. Her every step had a new lightness as though at any moment she might take flight, and she was practically glowing with enthusiasm. It seeped out of the pores of her golden skin, and it was a wonder she didn't burst into pure sunlight before him. Despite the apple incident, it was better than the welcome he had earned when he returned to Troy, and all his countrymen lined the streets to cheer for the return of their king and crown prince; this young woman outshone them all. It was more than he thought he deserved, but it pleased him greatly that she had not forgotten him.

When they stepped into the kitchen, Isidora was waiting to hear news of what had happened with the thief. Instead, she nearly had a heart attack when the prince of Troy followed Myrina inside. Hector met her gaze and smirked at the look of shock on her face. She almost appeared as though she had seen a ghost, and Hector was glad he could surprise the woman who so obviously did not approve of him. In that moment, he wordlessly warned her that he was not going anywhere, and that they would not be rid of him so soon. Isidora finally snapped out of it and pushed past them to take care of his horse. The emotions rolling off of her were unmistakable, but Myrina was too happy to have her mood dampened by the servant. Likewise, Hector was simply amused by it.

Without hesitation, Myrina filled a cup with water for him, and he removed his cloak and settled down on the kitchen bench which was much smaller than he recalled it being. Now that there was more distance between them, the prince watched the girl move about the kitchen and was forced to acknowledge that she was no longer a girl. Rather she had grown into a young woman while he was away, and it made his lips curve up into a smile. It seemed like yesterday that she was a child crying in the garden, but already so many years had fallen between them. He was unable to decipher the feelings that arose as he considered how long they had known one another, but he did not had time to consider them further since Myrina sat beside him and handed him the cup of water.

"Your beauty grows with each new moon," he admitted earnestly after taking a sip of water. In response, Myrina granted him a flash of those untamable blue-green eyes that he had come to know so well and had missed dearly while away. The unspoken words within them gave him a hint that she doubted the sincerity of his compliment. He had never said such things to her before he left, but he had no reason to. Looking down at her, he recognized the truth in his own words. Where she had once seemed gangly and somewhat awkward, she had grown into her lithe limbs with subtle curves hidden beneath the layers of her dress. Her medium brown hair was tucked away from her face by a pin that had once belonged to her mother, and the length of it cascaded down to her waist in uninterrupted curls. Though her body had filled out more, the childish roundness to her face had disappeared, revealing the delicate, narrow features beneath her olive complexion. By comparison, her lips seemed fuller, and her eyes stood out even more than they had before, a strikingly bright turquoise against tan skin. Despite these changes, she was still slender and petite beside him with the same narrow frame that had always made her seem far more fragile than Hector knew her to be. In this way she retained a hint of her youth, reminding Hector of their age difference once more, but it seemed so insignificant when he considered the pretty young woman seated beside him on the bench. "Your brothers and father will need to keep a weather eye out. It's only a matter of time before men take notice." He smiled gently as he teased her in the way an older sibling might. No matter how she evolved, she was still his young friend, and his observation was ultimately platonic -or at least he planned to keep it that way.

"I hope such a day never comes," she commented softly while folding her hands in her lap.

It was an unexpected response, and his brow creased in mild confusion. "Why is that?"

She sighed and glanced up at him with a hint of annoyance lining her eyes. "What is there to look forward to? That one day I might marry a fisherman or farmer or potter and live a life cooking, cleaning, and tending to children?" She released a hand to touch the scar on his face and continued longingly, "You have travelled far away and seen so many things that I can only imagine. You have grown so much and experienced new things. I can never have that. The life I will have when I am married will be barely be a change from my current situation. I might as well remain and care for my father and brothers."

He took her hand from his face and placed it on the bench between them. "You should not think so drearily... Life may surprise you."

This garnered him a partial smile, and she squeezed his hand to acknowledge the effect his simple words had on her before shifting the topic of conversation. "Tell me of your journey. What do the lands look like? How do the people behave? What is it like to run into battle?" With each question, the excitement in her voice became more and more evident.

"I will tell you everything," he promised and reached into his cloak where he had hidden his surprise. "But first I brought you something." Myrina straightened up enthusiastically at full attention and expected him to hand her the golden pin. Instead he placed a piece of folded cloth in her outstretched hands, and it was far too heavy to be the pin. Her brow knit in confusion, and she looked at Hector with questioning eyes. "Open it," he coaxed with an amused chuckle. As if the idea hadn't even occurred to her, she quickly untied the knot holding the edges together and unwrapped the layers of cloth to reveal a beautiful shell necklace. Her eyes widened in surprise, and for a time, she merely stared at it, admiring its delicacy and attempting to wrap her mind around the idea that something so precious now belonged to her. When she didn't move, Hector reached over and picked it up for her, dangling it from his finger as though completely unaffected by its beauty. "The women of the Bisaltae tribe make these. I thought you might like it."

If he doubted her admiration for the gift, he merely needed to note her reaction. Myrina was entranced by it and how the light reflected off the pearlescent shells, shimmering slightly before her very eyes. Hesitantly, she reached out to touch one of the shells, but she was careful not to apply too much pressure else the shell crumble between her fingertips. It seemed something worthy of a princess, not a poor daughter of a fisherman. "It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen." Hector grinned proudly at her response and unhooked the clasp. Myrina quickly moved her hair aside and shifted so that her back faced the prince while he slipped it around her neck. She turned back to him and wondered, "How does it look?"

"It suits you," he decided, and he was certain it looked far fairer around her slender neck. One of the Bisaltae women had given it to him as a gift before his departure as a sign of her gratitude for the Trojan's participation in the war. Hector obviously had no need for shell necklaces and had initially planned to give it to Cassandra or one of his other sisters, but then he thought of Myrina. Clearly he had made the right choice considering how appreciative she was of the simple gift.

She lifted her left hand to touch the necklace where it sat upon her collarbones, and she was beaming with happiness. Still, she was curious about the token of their friendship and asked, "What of the pin?" She realized it was not nearly so lovely as the necklace, but admittedly, it meant more to her. She hoped Hector hadn't lost it and brought her the piece of jewelry to distract her.

Hector smirked and lifted the edge of his blue shirt to reveal the pin's hiding place at his waist. He detached it and offered it to Myrina who held it for a time. "Would you like it back?"

It was warm from his skin, and she rolled it between her fingers, admiring the tarnished piece. Her smile widened upon seeing the aged pin, but she returned it to Hector's hand once more. "No, I think you should keep it for now." Once the prince closed his hand around the pin, Myrina pressed, "Now you must tell me everything. Do not skip a single detail."

"I doubt can tell it all in one afternoon," he warned with a grin at her excitement.

"Then I will expect you to return as often as is necessary until you have recounted it all."

"As you wish." With that, Hector began by describing his journey across the Aegean Sea, and he did his best to portray the feeling of being surrounded by seemingly endless waves with the infinite expanse of the sky stretched overhead. He explained life at sea even though it was not quite an enjoyable experience, but Myrina did not seem to care. Thus, he explained how easy it was to become restless when confined to such a small amount of space, and what a relief it was to finally be on land again. "You feel like running for hours," he said with a chuckle, thinking of the time they had raced. It seemed so long ago. He did not dwell on the thought, and instead, he described the landscape of Greece, how the tents were constructed, what the Thracian people looked like, how they spoke, and every other thing he could think to tell her about. Normally Hector would have been annoyed recounting to such an extent his travels, but seeing her reaction to every piece of information gave him the feeling that he was reliving his own adventures, bringing each moment back to life for her to experience with him.

"Why would someone do such a horrible thing?" Myrina interrupted when Hector spoke of the Thessalian attack on the Bisaltae camps. Her frown was lined with the same disgust Hector had felt the first time Acamas told him of it.

He had seen such gruesome acts of violence while at war that now the information did not seem as appalling to him. However, the look on her face reminded him of his initial feelings, and he answered, "Greed. Power... There are not often explanations for men's actions."

"What sort of man attacks women and children who cannot defend themselves?"

"In war, men sometimes forget their morality."

"Did you?"

Hector thought of his first battle, and how he had evolved over the course of the war. He liked to think that he had transformed for the better, but there were times that the prince was still uncertain. At length, he offered, "War can change you."

"You would never attack women or children." The statement had a hint of hope to it, and Hector glanced at her, afraid she had grown dubious of his character.

"No," he assured her earnestly.

"What of the Bisaltae tribe now?"

Though she was skipping forward in the story, Hector couldn't blame her and was patient as he answered each question in turn. "They moved further north above the Pieres tribe during the war and have chosen to remain there. It is still too dangerous to be near the border."

"They lost their home."

"They have found a new one where they are safer. It is for the best."

Myrina ducked her chin in toward her collarbone, and Hector gave her a moment to process the information. Eventually, she decided, "Continue."

At the command, Hector discussed how they came to know of Thoas' involvement, and when it came time to describe his first battle, he abandoned the small kitchen bench to better portray the scene. Her mouth was slightly ajar, and her eyes widened when he told her about the Thessalian army charging toward them. He paused as he remembered how her words had floated through his mind and stunned him in the midst of battle. All at once, he decided to skip over that part and pretended as though his first kill had not bothered him as much as it had. Long ago they had made a pact to be honest with one another, but Myrina was much better at holding up her end of the bargain. Hector did not enjoy admitting his vulnerabilities even to his young friend, so he breezed over them without acknowledging them. After all, she would never be the wiser.

"Were you afraid?"

Hector glanced at her from where he was poised with his cup extended as though it were his sword. He abandoned the battle stance and scratched his beard idly as he considered whether to be honest or to lie. A look at her earnest expression, however, pressed him to be truthful though he did so in a roundabout manner, "There were times that I felt a bit of fear, but I had no time to be afraid. You have to act quickly in battle." She seemed content with this response, so he continued and told her about the giant Thessalian warrior he had faced. Myrina gasped when he explained how he had garnered the scar on his face, and he half expected her to cheer as he told her how he overcame the warrior and defeated him. With that, Hector turned to peer out the kitchen window and noticed he had already spent hours with his friend. He sat once more on the bench and said, "I will finish another time."

"No," she protested with a frown. "You cannot end it like that!"

Hector smirked, but he had no intention of continuing that day. "Tell me how you have fared during these three years."

"What is there to tell? My life is not marked by battles or journeys to far away lands."

"After three years of war, normality has more allure to me."

This caught her attention, and she peered up at him, gauging the sincerity of his words. "Very well." She paused to gather her thoughts and consider where she wanted to start and what was worth discussing. The prince gave her his undivided attention as she had given him, and honestly he was curious to hear about what what had happened to her since he left her. He had experienced enough excitement in the past three years that he truly would enjoy hearing about the simplicity of her life. It would be a welcome relief from the violence that had momentarily distorted his perspective on life. Thus, Myrina told him of her daily life, how her father and brothers had fared at sea, about a disagreement she had had with a neighbor, how she regularly made trips to the market in Troy now, and all the meager, insignificant details of her days. Hector occasionally interrupted with a question or comment, or he would laugh or frown at the appropriate times. His participation in the conversation bolstered Myrina, and she was not quite as self-conscious revealing the intricacies of her simple life to the prince. "My eldest brother Aeton will be married," she finally revealed.

Hector raised his brow and smiled. "This pleases you?" He seemed slightly surprised considering her critical view of marriage. Unlike his sisters who could be far too quixotic about love and romance, Myrina was much more realistic -to a fault even.

"Yes. I know he is happy with his match." She tilted her head and admitted, "I think he has always loved her."

"You think your brother can find satisfaction in marriage, and yet you do not believe you can."

It was true, but Myrina wasn't sure how to explain her complicated feelings on the matter. Rather, she decided, "I suppose one day we will see."

"I must leave now." The prince, however, didn't move from his position on the bench as if he did not wish to leave.

Likewise, Myrina remained next to him and impulsively placed her hand on top of his. "I am so glad to know that you have returned."

He met her gaze and smiled gently. "I will visit you again soon."

"You must," she reminded him as they both finally stood. "You have yet to finish your story."

"I know." He set the cup on the kitchen counter and pinned his cloak around his neck once more. The mood shifted to bittersweet in the small space between them at a moment's notice, but this was the burden of their unlikely friendship. As often as they had stolen moments together, they were forced to part each time with the uncertainty of when they were see each other next. Hector shrugged it off and headed outside where Isidora was already waiting with his horse. Evidently she had given up pretending not to eavesdrop on their conversations, and he mounted his horse. "Take care," he said as a final farewell.

"I will," she returned and granted him a soft smile lined with sadness at seeing him depart so soon. Without another word, he dug his heels into his horse's sides, and he was galloping out of the village so swiftly he was almost a blur fading into the distance. As usual Myrina watched after him, and to her surprise, the prince glanced over his shoulder back at her only once. Myrina's heart skipped a beat at the unexpected gesture, and she grinned at him. He didn't acknowledge her reaction and disappeared out of her line of sight only a moment later. She unsure what to make of the abrupt change when he had never before looked back at her, but it pleased her nonetheless. It made her feel that he was as reluctant to leave her side as she was to let him ago. Evidently their time apart had only made her grow more fond of him, and she touched the necklace where it hung over her collarbones. Perhaps the feeling was mutual.

* * *

**Author's Note**: HAPPY LATE BUNNY DAY! :D I really wanted to get this up on Easter, butttt I was a bit incapacitated yesterday and was thus worthless when it came to sitting up, concentrating, and editing X(. This chapter was so exciting for me because the catalyst that instigated this entire story was a dream I had back in December about a woman throwing apples at a man. When I woke up, I couldn't get that dream out of my head because it was so random and bizarre, and I literally just went from there and thought up this story! I guess if you want think about it symbolically too, you can have a field day with that haha

A huge thank you to KawaiiHawaiian and AmyLNelson for the two lovely reviews! :D Kawaii: I'm glad you're enjoying it so far! I could never see Hector with Andromache either for some reason, and I just love him so much that I want to give him another chance even though I basically killed him in the first paragraph of the story haha I hope you liked this chapter. Amy: I'm so glad you like how I write Hector. He's obviously my favorite character from Troy, and I adore him so I love writing things from his perspective. I wanted this to be as much about his evolution into the man that we all know and love as it is a love story. Hopefully you liked how the reunion played out! xoxo


	13. In the Background

Chapter 12  
"In the Background"

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Recommended Songs: "Blue Lips" – Regina Spektor & "Young Blood" – The Naked and Famous

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"And he is thrown through the air over twenty paces and lands painfully on his back. He loses his sword and helmet, but still he is not afraid… Before him he sees the greatest warrior of the Thessalian army. He stands at least ten feet tall, larger than any man on the battlefield-"

"Ten feet?" Isidora questioned irritably.

Myrina glared at the servant who had so rudely interrupted her while she was in the midst of recounting Hector's first experience in battle. Though she knew Isidora didn't truly care, she was too excited and impressed by his story not to share it with someone. She dropped her hands from where she was drawing the story into the air and placed them on her hips. "Yes. He was as gargantuan as a Titan."

"I thought last time it was eight feet or perhaps seven… Evidently he grows several feet each time you tell this story." Isidora cocked an eyebrow to show her obvious distaste that Myrina insisted on recounting the same stories over and over again. It was already clear that the older woman didn't approve of Myrina's relationship with the prince, and she would rather not be reminded of the man every few minutes. However, since Hector had left that afternoon, Myrina had not ceased speaking about him. Isidora had attempted to shift the subject, but somehow the young woman found a way to direct the conversation back to the prince no matter the topic. At length, Isidora gave up, but her foul mood weighed heavily down on the air surrounding her so that there was no mistaking her feelings on the matter. Myrina easily ignored her and chattered on and on. Even when she was not speaking, it was undeniable that she was thinking of their encounter. Consequently, Isidora was practically preparing dinner on her own because Myrina could not stay focused on the task at hand. Isidora had thought that the girl had made progress, but she had spoken too soon. The young woman standing in the kitchen with her was as juvenile, scatterbrained, and spontaneous as the girl the prince had left behind three years ago.

"You should remove that before your father returns home," Isidora commented with her eyes situated on the gift hanging around Myrina's neck. The mere sight of it left a foul taste in the servant's mouth, and she grimaced as she acknowledged for the umpteenth time that this relationship would not end well. Long ago she had warned Myrina against growing too involved with the prince, but young girls had a way of conveniently forgetting well-meaning advice.

"Why?" Myrina shot back sharply. She was somewhat defensive in response to Isidora's critical view towards Hector, and now she touched the evidence of their friendship that she wore proudly. The gift was a sign that the prince had remembered her during his travels and in a way brought her a piece of the exotic, foreign lands. Myrina had no intention of removing it.

"How will you explain its origins?" Isidora pointed out calmly.

Myrina turned her gaze down to the floor as she considered the question. The thought obviously had not occurred to her until Isidora brought it up, and she found herself scrambling to formulate some intelligent response if only to be contrary. After several moments of deep thought, she impulsively decided, "I will say I bought it at the market."

"Alkaios was with you."

Myrina once more turned her attention downward as she fell into her thoughts. Isidora often acted as the voice of reason, but that did not mean Myrina wished to listen to her. Most of the time Isidora was pointing out Myrina's faults, and no one enjoyed being reminded of their shortcomings. The older woman waited for Myrina's response, and she was patient since she knew she had already won the argument. With a curt glare, Myrina wordlessly turned on her heel and stormed down the hallway to her room. Inside she grabbed her mirror and turned to face her reflection. She angled the small mirror so that she could see the necklace upon her tan skin. The contrast gave the pearlescent shells a glowing quality, and with every breath she took, they shimmered in the dim lighting. It was without a doubt the most spectacular gift she had ever received even though Hector had given it to her without a second thought. Perhaps to the prince it seemed something ordinary and unexceptional, but to Myrina it may as well have been lined with expensive jewels rather than mere seashells. Unfortunately, Isidora had addressed a very important flaw in her sporting the gift, and she reluctantly unclasped the necklace and held it in her hand, feeling the warmth slowly fade from it. Before she changed her mind, she carefully hid it beneath her bedding, nestling it within the padding so that it would not by chance be harmed. When she returned to the kitchen once more, Isidora was in a much better mood, but Myrina felt strangely bare and available without the necklace. She pushed the feelings to the periphery of her consciousness and set about helping Isidora prepare supper.

That evening they would be receiving Aeton's bride-to-be's family, and thus Myrina had gone to the market the day before to find the ingredients for a worthy meal. She had never cooked for such an occasion, but Isidora offered a certain amount of guidance. In her old age, she had far more experience with these sorts of social situations where Myrina was only just dipping her toes into the water. Marriage and all the ceremonies accompanying it were as foreign to her as Hector's stories of battle. Though the former was much more accessible to her, it was not something she had directly encountered or experienced before. Thus, she relied on Isidora's advice and prayed that they did not commit any grievous faults during the evening. Of course she doubted there was any chance of jeopardizing the engagement between her brother and Korina. Although their family was not particularly wealthy, Aeton was a good, strong man. He would be out at sea for years and be able to provide Korina with stability for the rest of their lives. Beyond that, there was his uninterrupted devotion for her that he had developed years earlier. As Myrina had admitted to Hector that day, she suspected Aeton had always loved Korina, and he would be a good man if only to make her smile and please her. Over the years, the feeling had been reciprocated, and it only seemed natural when Aeton gathered every piece of confidence he had and asked her father for her hand in marriage. Needless to say, both families were elated.

Her father and brothers arrived home earlier than usual to prepare themselves for the evening. Aeton in particular wished to wash himself clean of the infamous scent of a fisherman: a pungent mixture of sea, sweat, and fish. Myrina had never seen her eldest brother look so nervous or excited, and she smiled to herself as he brushed past them all on his way to his room. Alkaios lingered in the kitchen if only to steal bits of food every now and again. He was famished from a day at sea, but Myrina smacked his hand away each time that she caught him.

"You will ruin your appetite," she chided sharply, but on the inside, she was laughing to herself. Frankly, she couldn't care less whether Alkaios saved his appetite. She simply enjoyed how irritated he was becoming by the second. No matter how old they grew, it seemed they would never cease quarrelling with one another. Though they fought often, it was their way of showing affection. Admittedly, Myrina would miss Alkaios the most one day when he married and moved out of the house. Somehow she assumed that she would be the last one left even though women married much younger than men. Perhaps on some level she did not believe she would ever be wed.

"With your cooking, that may be my intention," Alkaios shot back. This garnered him an icy glare from Isidora who had a heavy hand in the meal that night, and Alkaios granted her a charming smile as if to silently apologize for any offense he had caused her. Ideally, he only wanted to insult Myrina.

"You should clean yourself before supper. They will be here any moment," Isidora interrupted in the motherly tone she often managed when addressing the children.

"Yes," Myrina agreed with a broad smile. "Aeton would not be happy if your stench scared away our guests."

Alkaios opened his mouth to retort, but a firm hand on his shoulder quieted him immediately. Aeton stood behind him where he had returned from his room reasonably clean and in fresh robes. With his hair still damp, a few unruly curls sprung up unceremoniously around his head, giving him an almost boyish quality in the evening light. It was a surprising contrast to the rugged features lying immediately below them. Her eldest brother was tall with a lean, muscular form gained from years spent pulling in the nets at sea. His skin was tan from the sun, and across the bridge of his nose were scattered a few freckles. Like all of Diokles' children, he had bright blue eyes which were currently scanning the kitchen table, making sure that everything was as it should be. "Myrina speaks truthfully," he commented and squeezed his brother's shoulder. "Our neighbors can smell you from here."

At the insult, Alkaios shrugged off Aeton's hand and twisted around to face his brother with a sarcastic response, "I apologize, brother. I would not want to upset you in front of your _precious_ Korina. Shall I tell her how you constantly speak of-" Alkaios was unable to finish for Aeton roughly grabbed him, and the two brothers began wrestling with one another in the narrow space of the kitchen.

"Not inside!" Isidora hissed in alarm, but Myrina was giggling and amused by her brothers' roughhousing.

At length, Aeton managed to slip his arm around Alkaios' neck, holding him firmly in place against his side though the latter struggled to release himself. Aeton applied more pressure, and Alkaios tapped his brother's arm to alert him that he would not fight any longer. In response, Aeton let go and pushed him roughly down the hallway. "Get dressed before I toss you to bed with the swine. You would suit each other." He straightened his robes in annoyance and turned to face his little sister who was grinning at him. She nodded her head in wordless approval and stepped forward to help tame his curls. Aeton smiled nervously down at her, and now that they were closer she could better see the extent of his anxiety.

"You have no need to be concerned," she murmured reassuringly to him while adjusting another curl. "We will not embarrass you."

"You may not, but I cannot believe the same of Alkaios," Aeton rejoined with a heavy sigh.

"Korina is marrying you and not Alkaios. Yours is the only behavior that she will judge... Be polite and kind, and you will please her."

"Little sister," Aeton said gently and took Myrina's hand in his own. His eyes softened as they peered down at her, and he continued, "How long will it be before you are promised to a man?"

She shifted uncomfortably at the change in topic and looked away from him. "I do not know," she said cryptically.

His voice lowered, and he admitted, "I should warn you that I will be very harsh in my judgment of his character."

This caused her lips to curve up into a smile, and she glanced back up at him. "I would expect no less."

"They have arrived," her father warned suddenly from the hallway, disrupting the rare, candid moment Myrina was sharing with her eldest brother. The two parted immediately, and Aeton followed his father outside to welcome the group while Myrina stepped back toward Isidora. The older woman anxiously adjusted the pin in Myrina's hair and attempted to straighten out her dress. Myrina swatted her away since she was only pestering her, and she paused while straining to listen to what was being said outside.

In a second, the quiet permeating through the house was disrupted as the family entered, and they were swept into playing the role of the hosts. Time seemed to fastforward so quickly that it only appeared a moment later that Isidora leaned over and commanded, "Find your brothers. They seem to have disappeared. Supper will be served soon. They should not wander off so carelessly!" Isidora was clearly feeling the stress of the evening, and Myrina was too excited to cause her any more problems. Without a word of protest, she began searching for the two young men. Why would they step away on such an important night? She sighed in annoyance and hurried to locate them before their company was missed. They were nowhere to be found inside the house, so she stepped outside where the sun was offering the last rays of its light. She searched around the perimeter of the home and froze when she turned the corner to the back of the house.

There was her eldest brother Aeton with his arms wrapped about Korina while he kissed her passionately. Myrina ducked embarrassedly behind the corner, and her heart raced in her chest from catching her brother and his bride-to-be in the midst of such an improper action. After several moments passed, her curiosity got the better of her, and she carefully peeked around the corner to see if they were still there. As before, they were tangled in each other's arms with their lips pressed firmly together. Myrina had never seen something so private, and she swallowed at the discomfort arising in her form while attempting to remain in the background of the scene lest her position be found out. Korina took hold of Aeton's face, holding him in place so that she could kiss him with more force. In response, his arms tightened around her, pulling her firmly against him, and there was passion, love, and need lining their forms. The candid desire was so fierce, Myrina could feel it from her position, and she worried nervously at her bottom lip. Seeing the expression of their intimate love exposed left her breathless for it was so beautiful, vulnerable, and raw.

"Myrina, what are you doing?"

The young woman in question jumped like a child caught red handed and spun on her heel to see Alkaios standing beside her with his brow knit in mute curiosity. She blushed from the crown of her head all the way down to her toes, and she glanced to her right to see that Korina and Aeton had parted and were staring at her. Without a word, she pushed past Alkaios and nearly sprinted inside the crowded home, seeking out some refuge in the space. Unfortunately, a large hand grasped her bicep and forced her down the hallway and into the nearest room. Aeton closed the door behind them but did not release his grip on his sister's arm. Myrina was too stunned and embarrassed to fight him, and she feared how her eldest brother would react now that he knew she was spying on him. He bent down so that his face was inches from her own, and his blue eyes reverberated with the sparks of his violent anger. His voice was so low that it sent chills down her spine, and he warned in an icy tone, "You will not speak a word of this to anyone. You did not see anything." Myrina nervously trembled before him, and he shook her roughly when she did not answer. "Do you understand?" The events that had passed only moments earlier left her mute in their wake, and so she simply nodded her head fervently. He seemed content enough with this response and released his grip from her arm. "Go to the kitchen and help Isidora." Numbly, she obeyed and abandoned the room to find the servant in the kitchen.

"Has something happened?" Isidora wondered when she noticed the girl's pale countenance. Myrina shook her head. She would not dare to speak another word for the remainder of the evening.

* * *

It had been over a week since the disastrous dinner, and Myrina was still having difficulty looking her brother Aeton in the eye. Her unintentional glimpse into his love affair with Korina had flooded her mind with abrupt new fantasies, questions, and desires. While alone, she traced a finger across the soft skin of her lips, applying slight pressure over the plump flesh, and she closed her eyes as she imagined what it felt like to be kissed. Though she obviously knew of kisses and how they could express one's affection, she hadn't necessarily ever longed to kiss another -mainly because she had never realized what passion and desire could be had from something as simple as a kiss. It was suddenly so incredibly beautiful to her, the thought of pressing her lips to another's and longing for someone with even half as much intensity as she had seen between Aeton and Korina. Normally critical of romance in general, she surprised herself with how easily she was swept away into the tide of some previously unknown want. Simply witnessing two people who were in love had successfully shattered her resolve that love was aloof and a pure fantasy. In the days that followed, she found herself questioning everything. Did this make the romance she heard of in stories accessible to common folk? The curious shift in her perspective left her uncertain and pensive most days, and it all came about because of one simple kiss witnessed from the background.

Around noon, Korina paid her an unexpected visit, and Myrina felt completely ambushed by the young woman she had so carelessly spied on nearly a week earlier. Considering the unannounced social call, Myrina was suspicious of her intent, but she should have known better. Korina had a reputation for her unyielding kindness, and it was undoubtedly the characteristic which illuminated her beauty tenfold. By all standards, she was fairly plain with chocolate brown curls and matching eyes. She was taller than Myrina with a sturdier build, and at first glance, nothing in particular stood out about the woman. Then she would smile, laugh, or simply speak, and she would appear instantly radiant. Korina was certainly an appropriate match for Aeton, and the poor fisherman practically kissed the ground she walked upon.

"That is a beautiful necklace," Korina commented, and Myrina froze as she remembered that she was wearing the piece.

Whenever her father and brothers abandoned the house for the day, Myrina had taken to donning the necklace in secret despite Isidora's obvious irritation. Already she had decided that whenever she journeyed to the market without Alkaios next, she would say she bought it for herself. Then she would no longer be forced to hide it since it always saddened her each time she had to remove it. Obviously this was a slight slip up in her plan. "Thank you," Myrina murmured softly after a moment's silence.

"I have seen nothing like it. Where did you find it?" Korina continued, oblivious to Myrina's uneasiness with the topic.

"I bought it at the market in Troy." Now that the lie was brought to life, Myrina continued in an attempt to hide it further, "My father does not know yet. I should not have bought it without his permission, but it was so lovely." She smiled uncertainly when she met Korina's gaze next. "I would appreciate if you did not say anything about it."

Korina smiled in return and reassured her, "My lips are sealed... I stopped by today to thank you."

"For?"

"For not revealing what you saw the other night. I would have come to you sooner, but I'm afraid I was far too embarrassed to face you." Even with the admission, her cheeks reddened slightly.

Myrina's heartbeat increased as she remembered the night and acknowledged that she was sitting across from the same young woman who was partially to blame for her new outlook. "You will be married in a few week's time," she pointed out and paused cautiously. "I do not think a stolen kiss should cause you any shame."

Korina visibly relaxed beside Myrina and took the other woman's hand. A beautiful smile warmed her features as she confessed in a deluge of words, "I love Aeton more than I can express. I know it is not proper to act so impatiently, but I cannot catch my breath when I am near him. I am so happy and content, and I know it is no excuse for falling victim to improper actions. I..." she trailed off thoughtfully, and Myrina was completely entranced by how her eyes lost focus as she considered some private memory. She nearly glowed when she spoke of her love for Aeton, and deep down inside, Myrina acknowledged some hint of envy since she had never known that feeling.

Korina considered Myrina with hopeful eyes, and the latter promised, "You do not need to explain yourself to me."

"I am grateful for your kindness." Korina squeezed her hand then. "Already you have proven what a wonderful sister you will be."

Touching the necklace, Myrina reminded her, "And you have already repaid me."

Korina's gaze turned down once more to the piece of jewelry. "It truly is beautiful... It befits you." With that, Korina considered Myrina's smiling face and reached up unexpectedly toward her head. Myrina stiffened in her seat, unsure of Korina's intent, but the other woman paused long enough to ask, "May I?"

"Of course." Honestly, Myrina still did not have the slightest clue what the other woman intended to do, but being agreeable was usually the polite path to take.

Thus, Korina plucked the pin from Myrina's hair, causing her curls to tumble forward in a sudden wave. Then Korina began rearranging her hair so swiftly and expertly that Myrina barely noticed what in fact she was doing. Myrina could never recall having anyone else tend to her hair, and she was curious to see what Korina would do. After several moments of arranging, tugging, and placing, Korina seemed content and sat back once more to consider the young woman. "It fares your face better to not pin every piece back," she finally explained once she was done. Myrina could not be certain what she meant without a mirror to inspect her reflection, so she lifted her hands to feel as best she could what difference Korina had made. The style was essentially the same since the sides of her hair were held by her mother's pin, but Korina had left a few stray curls out to frame her face which Myrina did not normally do. Briefly she wondered if it would be irritating to fuss with the free pieces when she was attending to her chores, but she was too polite to change the style in front of Korina.

Without warning, Isidora appeared in the doorway and announced, "You have a visitor." Her eyes bore into Myrina, and her meaning was unmistakable. In response, Myrina's heart skipped a beat excitedly, and she attempted to restrain the grin threatening to overtake her features. Usually the young woman would ask who was calling upon her, but she already knew and was unsure whether Isidora could formulate a lie swiftly enough.

Evidently it was not necessary because Korina quickly stood and said, "I should take my leave. I have already kept you for too long. I did not know you were expecting company."

"It is of no concern," Myrina assured her kindly. "I am glad we were able to speak. You should visit me again."

"I would like that," Korina agreed. "Give my greetings to your father and brothers."

"I will." Korina exited then, and only a moment later did a familiar cloaked form step inside. He pulled back the hood, and Myrina felt such overwhelming happiness at seeing him that part of her wanted to rush into his arms yet again.

Hector returned her smile and said, "I did not mean to interrupt-"

"You didn't," Myrina assured him before he could even finish the statement. They stood there staring at one another silently, reflecting back each other's enthusiasm, until Myrina realized she should offer him a cup of water as she always did. Quickly, she turned away from him, and he followed her into the kitchen where he removed his cloak and settled down onto the bench. The familiarity of this routine gave him a sense of solace, and he felt exceptionally at peace and content in her presence that afternoon. She occupied the available space beside him after handing him the cup of water and smiled brightly at him.

"What has you so lighthearted?"

"I am happy to see you," she explained without hesitation.

"You wish to hear about the remainder of my travels?" he guessed from behind his cup where it was poised at his mouth, and an amused smirk was tugging at his lips.

"Yes. I have waited over a week."

At the reminder, his eyes softened apologetically when they peered at her next. "I have been... preoccupied."

Myrina would be lying if she pretended not to be bothered by his long absence after he had only just been returned to her, but she was too elated by his presence to be angry with him and simply said, "I understand."

Hector straightened then and asked, "Where was I?" He knew the answer, but he was curious to see how intently she had been listening.

"You defeated the giant Thessalian warrior," she rejoined instantly. In response, he granted her a broad smile, pleased that she remembered, before picking up where he left off. As before, she gave him her undivided attention and listened intently to every detail he offered. For some reason his descriptions of the battles seemed to captivate her more than anything else, and thus, he occasionally breezed over the uninteresting aspects of daily camp life until he reached the next fight.

"I stood over him," Hector said from his position in front of her. In the midst of his description of battle, he had abandoned the bench and was acting it out for her. He paused and turned to her to remind her, "Mind you my sword has been knocked from my hand."

"You are without a weapon?" she gasped in shock.

It was the reaction he had hoped for, and he beamed proudly as he continued, "I know I must act swiftly before he regains his balance. All at once, I punch him-"

"You punched him?" Myrina interrupted suddenly, but it was not at all in the manner that she normally did.

"Yes, I had no other option."

"Will you teach me?"

Hector raised his brow curiously while still poised in his battle stance. "Teach you what?"

"How to punch," she stated simply as if there could have been no other answer. It was an impulsive petition, but she had often seen her brothers fight while growing up. She consequently wondered about combat techniques, and she did not think there was any harm in learning something so menial as how to punch. Who better to teach her than Hector?

Initially, he thought she was joking, and he chuckled at the prospect. However, she peered at him earnestly, and he returned to his standing position as he thought over the proposal. He shifted his weight over one foot and crossed his arms over his chest, pondering how to address her request properly without offending her. "Why do you need to learn how to fight?"

"What if I need to defend myself?" she suggested.

His gaze fell down the length of her narrow form, and he assured her, "I would recommend fleeing." She was quite fast, but with her slender frame, he doubted she had the strength to fight.

"Suppose retreat is not an option," she countered. "Should I simply allow someone to attack me?"

"No… You could scream." Evidently he had an answer for everything.

Myrina was growing frustrated with how he continually dismissed her suggestions, and her eyes narrowed as she sharply pointed out, "What if no one is around to hear me or help me?"

As he realized that she would not abandon this topic, Hector noted he could either indulge her or face an argument. At length, he caved and nodded his head. "Very well. I will teach you how to punch but nothing more." Myrina rolled her eyes at his response and stood from the bench. He acted as though she would ask him to teach her sword fighting next which she had no intention of doing -at least not at that given moment. Oblivious to her thoughts, Hector considered the narrow space in the kitchen and recognized that it was an accident waiting to happen. "There is not enough room in here."

Rather than surrendering so easily, she offered, "We can go outside."

"We cannot risk anyone seeing me," he reminded her, and it seemed to be a way to escape teaching her.

Myrina thought about it briefly and said, "Follow me." She led him out of the kitchen and to the back of the house where a corner blocked them from the view of the rest of the village. Of course if one of her neighbors walked back, they could find them, but generally speaking they would be hidden. Ironically it was the same, secret place where she caught Aeton and Korina kissing a week ago, but she pushed the memory away as she announced, "Here."

With the available space, Hector now realized there was no way around it, but he assumed he would make it a quick lesson. After all, he saw no reason why she truly needed to learn this and was simply humoring her to avoid an argument. "Make a fist," he commanded and showed her his clenched hand.

Myrina followed suit but asked, "Should my thumb be tucked inside or outside?"

"Outside," he answered and turned his fist to show her how his was placed. Once she had accomplished his first task, he continued, "Do not bend your wrist. You should have a straight line from your elbow out to your knuckles." In response, she made the necessary adjustment, mirroring his own raised fist as best she could, but she was standing stiffly at attention which was never ideal in combat. "Relax your knees." For the time being Hector was less concerned about the effectiveness of her blow and only corrected her form to keep her from hurting herself. Once he seemed pleased with her stance, he held up his left hand with his palm out to her. "Hit my hand." He had large hands, providing her with a broad surface to strike, but Myrina still felt a hint of nervousness. If she missed, he would no doubt tease her endlessly about it. The action was also completely foreign to her, but she would not back down without at least attempting it. She took a steadying breath and raised her arm out to the side.

"Wait," Hector interrupted suddenly, and she froze in place at the brusque command. He stepped forward then and adjusted her arm for her. "Keep your elbow up. Remember you need a straight line." He traced one finger from her elbow out along the edge of her arm and to her knuckles to remind her. Myrina nodded and was slightly annoyed that already he was correcting her when she hadn't even been given the chance to swing. Hector then resumed his stance before her with his palm open to her. "Now hit my hand." Myrina concentrated on his hand in front of her, twisted back slightly, and pushed her fist forward into his open palm. His arm didn't even budge under the force of her punch, but Myrina was ecstatic that she hadn't missed and smiled up at Hector. He smirked in response to her evident pleasure and pointed out, "You can hit harder. Try again." Once more, she steadied herself, carefully resumed her stance, and punched his hand. Honestly, Paris punched harder, and as before, Hector lifted his brow and commented, "You won't hurt me. You can use more force."

This time, Myrina abandoned her form and placed her hands on her hips as she admitted self-consciously, "I can't."

"What?" he asked since he could barely hear her mumbled response.

Reluctantly, she spoke up louder and annunciated, "I cannot hit any harder."

Hector paused in momentary surprise and then grinned broadly. "Really?" Rather than answering, she glared up at him since he was taunting her as usual. "You should flee," he reminded her and chuckled to himself. "I doubt you could hurt a child with that punch." Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and Hector knew he shouldn't be making fun of her. He simply couldn't help himself. Seeing as he was truly annoying her, he attempted a more somber face. "I'm sorry." However, to her immense irritation, the amusement still shone in his eyes. "Try again."

For a time, she practiced hitting his hand again and again, and she became more comfortable with the movement. Hector watched her with a careful eye, searching for any faults to her form that might cause her injury, but she was faring fairly well. The prince was accustomed to sparring with men, and as they continued, he unintentionally fell into his normal rhythm. On her next punch, he moved his hand, expecting her to follow it. Instead, she swung past it, cried out as she spun off balance, and tumbled forward. Hector quickly caught her around the waist before she could fall to the ground and drew her form up against him to steady her.

Myrina peered up at him with flushed cheeks and accused, "You moved!"

Hector had begun laughing by then, and he pointed out, "You should have followed. No man would stand in place waiting for you to strike him."

"You could have warned me," she protested irritably and looked away in embarrassment when Hector grinned down at her. The brusque motion caused a piece of hair to fall across her face, and he absentmindedly lifted his free hand to push the piece out of her face for her, tenderly tucking it behind her ear. At the unexpected gesture, she gazed up at him curiously while a sudden wave of indistinct emotions flooded her slender form. When he noted the change in her countenance, he became aware that his arm was still around her waist, pulling her against him. It was closer than they had ever been before, and Myrina's heart sped up uncertainly as she acknowledged this.

It was possibly the most inopportune time to broach the subject with Hector, but in that moment, with his arm wrapped around her waist and her body pressed against his, it was so reminiscent of how she had found Aeton and Korina. Thus, it was the only thing she could think about, and all at once, she blurted out, "Have you ever kissed someone?"

His eyes widened in response the topic she chose, and he immediately began wondering why she would ask such a question. Considering their close proximity, the answer seemed obvious to him, and despite himself, his chest tightened expectantly as he responded, "Yes."

Myrina swallowed nervously, and her gaze flickered down to his lips beyond her control. Inevitably, her mind wondered how it felt to be kissed, and once she considered his face again, she pried, "What does it feel like?"

The question almost sounded like a request, and he searched her eyes for the true intent behind them. There was curiosity, innocence, and naivety lining her face, and he released her all at once when met with her haunting eyes which abruptly reminded him of the young child he had found crying in the courtyard so many years ago. He warily stepped away from her before they crossed over into a territory from which there was no returning. Furthermore, it was not a decision that he had even considered yet, but Myrina often had a way of surprising him. The young woman dropped her gaze to the ground and wrung her hands anxiously when he did not speak, and he watched her for a time before he eventually offered, "I do not know how to describe it."

At the answer, she met his gaze, and his orbs had darkened considerably from his thoughts. She was unsure what was running through his mind at that moment. Part of her pointed to their topic of conversation, but she knew that was silly. They were merely friends, and she had asked because she assumed Hector had some experience in the area. Clearly she had been right, but there was nothing more to make of their conversation. Why then was her heart beating so erratically within her chest? 'You are shy and embarrassed. You should not have asked him about this. Foolish girl,' her mind answered in a voice that oddly sounded like Isidora's.

"I should leave," Hector abruptly decided, and the sound of his deep voice startled Myrina from her thoughts.

"I'm sorry," she swiftly confessed in response, afraid he had misunderstood her purpose. "I saw my brother and Korina... I-I do not know why I asked you. I was curious. I should not have said anything." She took a step toward him to get a better look at his face and pleaded, "Please do not be upset with me."

She could not read the emotions in his chestnut eyes when he peered down at her, but he ultimately conceded, "I'm not."

The response gave her no relief, and Hector slipped away from her to return inside. She kept her distance for fear of giving him the wrong impression yet again. Once she stepped into the home, he already had his cloak about his shoulders, and he glanced at her with a deep frown. It seemed to completely contradict his prior reassurance, and her cheeks flushed as her stomach painfully dropped. With one look, he made her feel mortified, nervous, and fearful. Oblivious to her torment, the man continued outside without even speaking a word, and Myrina was caught between hiding within the kitchen and following him. Out of habit more than anything else, her feet guided her to the front door in time to see Hector mounting his steed. The Trojan prince watched her while his horse restlessly paced before the house. He was hesitating, but his face was distorted by the hood of his cloak, leaving Myrina ignorant as to his thoughts. She stepped forward from the house, assuming he wished to speak with her before he left, but the simple action seemed to spur him onward. All of a sudden, he dug his heels into the horse's sides and was gone in an instant. Impetuously, she sprinted after him to where she had stood last time he left her, hoping for a final glimpse of her dear friend. This time, however, he did not look back at her, and the small change left her feeling spurned. Normally watching him gallop away, he seemed to disappear before her eyes, but on this occasion, for some reason Myrina felt as though she numbly faded into the background, unseen and unacknowledged.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Pretty sure my muse was on adderall when this chapter was written. Yep. I wrote like 10,000 words, and then decided it would be better to divide it into two chapters so I didn't overload you guys haha

Thank you to AmyLNelson, Rath101, and KawaiiHawaiian for the reviews! :D Amy: _Gurrrlll_... I plead the fifth? haha I hope this chapter answered some of your questions! For the rest, I'm afraid you'll have to wait since I would like to maintain a little mystery ;) Let me know if this chapter is up to par and have a lovely night/morning/whatever it is for you! Rath: Thank you, gorgeous! Hopefully you enjoyed this chapter as well. On a side note: sweet icon. I like to lurk and inspect people's icons haha Kawaii: Every time I read your name, I wanna say "Kowabunga!" Not really sure why... In any case, thank you for the feedback :) Fingers crossed that everyone will like how Hector gets his chance! xoxo


	14. Sharp Knife

Chapter 13  
"Sharp Knife"

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Recommended Songs: "Sharp Knife" – Third Eye Blind & "Lazy Eye" – Silversun Pickups

* * *

The Prince of Troy fell over onto the bed with an exhausted sigh and closed his eyes against the last waves of pleasure rolling through him in the wake of his release. The woman beside him breathed heavily from their exertions only moments earlier and sat up to kiss and nibble at the tan skin stretched across his chest. The tender gesture irritated him for some reason considering he generally enjoyed a certain amount of space afterward, but for the time being he clenched his jaw and pretended not to notice her presence beside him. With a mistress he would need to become accustomed to sharing his bed on occasion, and he briefly wondered why it bothered him in the first place. He opened his eyes to peer down at her, searching for some reason as to his sudden aversion to her company. Her light blonde curls were mussed from their actions, but even in such a state, they did not detract from her beauty. In the dim candlelight, beads of sweat glistened against her bronze skin, and he was afforded a look at the uninterrupted lines of her body, all curves and gentle slopes. She had the sort of shape that caused women envy and left men's mouths ajar in her wake. Feeling his eyes on her, she turned to acknowledge his gaze with a playful smile on her lips. He was met with her pale green orbs which had enticed him the first time he had seen her. Without a doubt, she was the type of mortal beauty that Aphrodite cursed for her looks, and she served her purpose well in fulfilling the prince's more carnal desires; still, there was something missing as he considered her.

Earlier that day Myrina had innocently commented on the length of time between his visits, but she could not possibly guess what or rather who had kept the prince from her side. Staring at the culprit then, his mind began picking out subtle imperfections in response to his abrupt annoyance toward her. Her peach lips could be fuller to even out her face, the blonde of her hair seemed so dull and lackluster to the point that it almost washed out the tan of her skin, perhaps her frame was too heavy, and those pale green eyes were but a shadow in comparison to the stunning turquoise ones he knew so well. At the realization of what he was subconsciously doing, he sat up suddenly, pushing her off of him, and he grabbed a piece of blue material and hastily tied it about his waist as he stepped into the doorway of his balcony, feeling disgusted with himself. He placed his forearm up to the frame and leaned against it while he looked out over his beloved city where night had long since fallen. Torches and fires were scattered across the lands, flickering dimly in the distance almost like a reflection of the stars overhead.

Ismene sighed to herself and settled down on the bed, watching the Trojan prince who was possibly the most unpredictable man she had ever been with. One moment he was pursuing her and taking her as a mistress, and then the next he was tossing her aside as if he could not feign any less interest in her existence. Despite this, he was generally well-mannered toward her, and in the short time that they had been together, he granted her whatever she needed. What other reason was there to become a prince's mistress if not to simply enjoy the material perks? Needless to say, she had been all too pleased when the crown prince approached her. He was certainly handsome, and his reputation for being an honorable, brave man was known all throughout Troad. Though she knew it was quixotic to assume that a mistress could ever become anything more, she was his first and only one, and part of her wondered if perhaps he thought something more of her. On these nights, however, when he seemed as though he were aggravated with her mere presence, she was forced to acknowledge that she was only kept for one purpose.

"What keeps my lord from his bed this night?" she spoke up in a vain attempt to find some sort of solidarity with him beyond the bed. In the candlelight, she watched his muscular outline against the background of the dark night. Initially she had been somewhat surprised to see the various scars scattered across his skin though she supposed the mark on his face should have alerted her that there would be more. She did not expect such imperfections to taint a prince, and when she had commented on it days ago, he gave her some curt answer about war with the clear intent of dismissing the topic. In her time with him, she had come to realize that he was a private man, and furthermore that what he shared with her during the night had nothing truly to do with him. Even when joined together, he was as detached and distant to her as a stranger. Although he was polite, well spoken, and kind, Ismene had begun to notice that his underlying nature was much more dangerous. The scars lining his skin served as a warning sign, but she doubted any were perceptive enough in everyday situations to recognize his potential. He could be as lethal as a double-edged blade, balancing unsteadily somewhere between the prince and the warrior, and he could cut someone to pieces with one word or look should he so desire. Consequently, Ismene resolved to do what was necessary to remain in his good graces lest she become another victim of the rough, untamed beast lurking beneath the surface.

Hector granted her his profile at her question and did not speak for several moments. "You should sleep," he finally decided and turned away from her once more. His thoughts consumed him, and he did not wish to be interrupted again.

The lone sentence spoke volumes, and Ismene was soon cursing herself for ever agreeing to be with this prince. Undoubtedly Hector wished to be alone, but Ismene had no intention of disappearing quite so soon. Though she was his mistress, she did not appreciate being treated like a common whore. Conversation was obviously not an option at that point, so she pushed herself onto her elbows and looked about the room with a bored yawn. Her eyes settled on an odd trinket sitting upon his bedside table. She stretched out her hand to grasp it, rolled onto her back so that her shadow was not cast across it, and brought it closer to her face for a better look. Her fair brow furrowed in mild confusion as she realized it was a pin from his robes. It would not be such a bizarre find in his quarters, but it was tarnished as though years old which left her curious. Why would he keep an old pin on his bedside table? At that moment, the pin was torn from her grasp, and she gasped in surprise when she noted that Hector was standing at the edge of the bed with a deep frown of disapproval displayed across his handsome face. She had not heard him approach, and seeing the immense irritation in his eyes, her heart picked up its pace. Clearly she had overstepped some unmarked boundary, and she knew well enough that it was not ideal to upset her keeper.

"Leave," the prince growled angrily, and Ismene scrambled out of the bed at the command, grabbed her discarded dress where it was crumpled on the floor, and slipped it back on. Hector didn't stray from his position and watched her with intense, dark, brooding eyes. Though she struggled to find something appropriate to say that might lessen his irritation toward her, a glance at his eyes assured her that silence was a better option. Consequently, she slipped away toward her chambers without a word, and Hector sighed in relief, releasing the tense anger from his muscles with the exhale, as he sat on the edge of his bed. His gaze fell to the pin in his hand, and he chided himself for being short-tempered. Seeing her carelessly hold something that was so personal to him ignited his fury without his even realizing it, but now that he was alone, he was able to think more clearly. Naturally she had no way of understanding the significance of the simple token, but he was defensive nonetheless.

Taking Ismene for a mistress had been an impulsive action spurred by his cousin Aeneas no less. After they returned from the war, Aeneas had been called to Troy to celebrate the victory, and he had stayed for a few days to spend time with his friend and to continue the celebrations on their own. It had been after too many cups of wine that Aeneas challenged Hector to see which man could win Ismene's favor first. The rest somehow spiraled out of his control even though he knew he was fully involved in the process. On some level, Hector enjoyed a competition, and when Ismene had acted coyly with him, he had pursued her with more fervor until he won. The chase was exciting enough and provided Hector with a certain amount of amusement. Now, however, that he had her, he noted that the reality of keeping a mistress was not quite as entertaining as he had once thought. Likewise, the prince harbored no misconceptions that the only reason he won and not Aeneas was his position. Aeneas was far more charming and handsome, but Hector was simply the crown prince of Troy. His status overshadowed Aeneas and had attracted Ismene like a moth to a flame more than anything else. Hector detested false characters, and yet he had exploited his position for the sheer purpose of claiming victory over his cousin. Unfortunately, that glory was already waning.

Once more, he approached his balcony and admired the expanse stretching out endlessly before him. The complicated, indistinct emotions twisted around his form until every movement was laced with the painful reminder of what had passed that afternoon. In a split second, his innocent friendship had been jeopardized by a threat the prince had not even realized was looming over them. Hector did not enjoy being disarmed so easily when in reality he didn't feel he had the foresight to prepare himself. It was new, unmarred territory that he had never anticipated seeing, nor did he know how to deal with it. Crossing over the invisible boundary was not an option no matter what, but the prince was unsure what exactly had even happened, let alone how to properly handle it. For hours, he stood there peering into that darkness, wondering, doubting, scouring, without speaking a single word. What he was searching for even he did not know.

* * *

"What occupies your thoughts so early in the day?"

Considering the magnitude of thoughts weighing down her mind, Myrina's response was delayed. Several moments after her father voiced the question, her eyes refocused on his face, and she allowed herself a brief period to wonder what he had said. Unfortunately, she did not have the slightest clue, so she simply granted him a partial smile, hoping that such a response would deflect any question or comment. Her obvious absentmindedness made her father chuckle, and he turned his attention to Isidora. "Might you have some intuition on the matter?"

The servant knew better than any of the men gathered in the house early that morning what or rather who was ruling the young woman's mind, but long ago she had taken an unannounced vow of silence on the matter when it concerned her father or brothers. Currently, she was regretting that brash decision, but she would not betray Myrina's trust so abruptly. The young woman needed her protection, not her spite. At length, Isidora shook her head and set the final pack of food in front of Diokles for the trip out to sea as she nonchalantly commented, "She does not look ill."

Myrina had naturally realized she was the subject of their conversation, and though she was still unsure of her father's initial query, she offered, "I am well, father… Sleep evaded me last night, but I will wake with the dawn. There is no need to be concerned." It was in fact a truthful statement, but the extent of her distraction stretched far beyond her lack of sleep. One moment in particular haunted her without pause, and she inadvertently grimaced each time she remembered her foolish behavior with Hector. She was absolutely mortified, and she could only imagine what he thought of her now after such an inane display. On occasion she could be so impetuous and foolhardy as to surprise even herself. It was not a pleasant feeling, and she cautiously placed her fingers against her cheek to be sure she was not blushing while thinking about it.

"I should hope you are not ill," her father said tenderly as he stood up to face the day. He was growing older, and Myrina worried about him exerting himself out upon the rough sea. Aeton and Alkaios handled the majority of the work as far as raw labor and strength, but still, the sun and heat of the day could overcome even the most seasoned fisherman. Her father had always been a strong man, and he held himself with a certain amount of dignity despite his status and poor economic position. He was a proud man, but pride could be a silent killer. Diokles bent over to kiss Myrina on the crown of her head as he passed, and she smiled at the ritual. "Aeton! Alkaios!" he called out for his boys.

"They have left," Isidora reminded him with a nod toward the door.

"Ah yes." Evidently Diokles had not recalled their departure which was a rare event, and he grumbled under his breath, likely perplexed by his momentary lapse in memory.

Isidora and Myrina exchanged a secret look and jointly noted that the signs of age were surfacing more and more often with him. They, however, did not speak a word on the matter out of respect for the proud, aging man, and Myrina said, "I pray the gods smile on you this day, and you return with a bountiful catch."

"Yes, yes. Poseidon cannot curse us each day. Surely he must grow bored." This caused the young woman to laugh, and Isidora nodded her head in silent amusement at the quip. Once the men were gone, there was unfortunately nothing to distract Myrina from her thoughts. Thus, she resumed her self-inflicted isolation from the world, punishing herself by replaying the scene over and over in her head. Though she was prone to erratic behavior around her friend, her latest stunt undoubtedly loomed over them all. The memory of it followed her around as though it were a dark cloud hanging above her head, falling down on her should her mind stray from the action for even the slightest moment. At this rate, she would drive herself mad.

"You are quiet today," Isidora noted once morning had fully arisen, and they were tidying up the rooms. She straightened the sheet lying over Aeton's bed until no crease could be seen. "Did something happen yesterday?" she asked, unable to keep the suspicious tone from her voice.

Myrina inhaled to keep herself from snapping rudely at the older woman, but the unspoken words lingered in her throat and mind until she was glaring fiercely at the wall in front of her. It was exhausting how often Isidora found any excuse to reference her blatant dislike for Myrina and Hector's friendship. She held the breath until her lungs burned, and she could not bear it another second and exhaled through her nose. All the while, she felt the older woman's eyes calmly boring a hole into the back of her head. The expectant silence in the room hung around them until Myrina eventually caved and spoke, "I do not know what you are referring to." It was a vain lie, but she prayed Isidora would leave it at that.

"You left the kitchen for some time," she pointed out and did not seem the least bit embarrassed admitting to her nosiness. "I wondered where you went."

The young woman could no longer hold her tongue, and she turned on her heel to face the servant and swiftly countered, "Have you nothing better to draw your attention than my private conversations?"

Isidora's gaze was steady and unyielding as she answered, "No." Myrina's eyes narrowed, and she nearly sprinted from the room, attempting to place as much distance between herself and Isidora as possible. Of course the old woman followed and called out to Myrina's retreating form, "I am only concerned for your well being. You are young. You trust too easily, too completely."

Without stopping, she twisted around to peer viciously back at the woman. "What have I to be suspicious of? He has been my dearest friend since I was a child. He deserves my trust more than any."

"Myrina… Has he touched you?"

The unwarranted question managed to stop Myrina dead in her tracks. Hoping she had simply misheard Isidora, she asked in an icy tone, "What?"

"Has he engaged in any improper actions?"

In response, the memory of their bodies pressed together behind the house flashed before her eyes, but she pushed it roughly away while her fury flared. "Have you gone mad? What possesses you to assume such sinister things? Do you enjoy creating false stories to taint the prince's name?"

Her abrupt, vehement defense only served to increase Isidora's conviction, and the older woman pressed with more force, "I have long seen the ways of eager, young men. They are crafty in their charm and aim to take advantage of unsuspecting girls."

"We are friends and nothing more," she snapped back, and her tone was a warning to drop the subject.

"Do not be so certain he shares that opinion," Isidora challenged, but it was the final straw for the young woman who continued her rapid pace away from the servant. The discussion took on a downward spiral as she sped away, and Isidora called after her, "Guard your virtue!"

Had Myrina any sort of object in hand to throw at the old woman, she undoubtedly would have. As it was, she nearly ran from the house and out to the old, untended courtyard. It seemed a fitting place in the wake of their conversation, and it gave her a sense of peace. Around her it felt as though her world were spinning, caught up in some violent tempest of unmastered and irreconcilable emotions, and there she sat in the eye of the storm: simultaneously calm and threatening. She wished she had never asked Hector to teach her to punch, or that she had held her tongue instead of inquiring about kissing. There were many things that she wanted to change about their encounter yesterday, but all she could do was attempt to console herself. Truthfully, beyond her embarrassment lay a much more pernicious threat. Had she unwittingly jeopardized their friendship?

* * *

The following afternoon, Hector strolled about the perimeter of the palace, enjoying the familiarity of its grandeur and space. Despite his distraught thoughts the night before, the Trojan prince felt quite composed. He recognized that it was ridiculous to allow their insignificant encounter to affect him so drastically. For a time, he had been confused and sought some understanding as to Myrina's motives, but he soon realized that suspecting her of feeling anything other than friendship toward him was absurd. She was far too young and innocent to consider him in such a light, and being a more mature, experienced person, he had assumed some greater purpose behind her actions. That was highly unlikely, and he further noted that allowing himself to stress over the insignificant event was behavior befitting of a woman. With that, he dismissed it from his thoughts and found his brother practicing his archery on the palace grounds. Initially, the older prince hung back in the shadows, scrutinizing Paris from afar, but even he was forced to admit the young man was a fair shot and had only gotten better during the three years while Hector was away. "Your archery has improved, but what of your sparring or sword fighting?"

Paris was startled by his brother's voice and turned to see Hector leaning against one of the pillars with his arm crossed over his chest. He grinned as he realized he had surprised Paris. It was a skill he had long employed with his younger brother, and it never ceased to amuse him. "I promised that I would surprise you, brother," Paris reminded him while drawing another arrow from his quiver. He notched the arrow, pulled back the sinew, took aim, and shot the straw target directly in the chest. It was a flawless hit.

"As I said, your archery is better." Hector stepped forward from his place beside the pillar, casually strolling toward his brother. "But you have not answered my question." Somehow he doubted Paris had the patience or discipline for any other fighting techniques. The only reason he adopted archery was a natural aptitude, and also, it was not a sport which Hector practiced. As a result, whenever Paris excelled at it, he did not have to worry about being compared to Hector. Competing with his older brother was often a losing game from Paris' position, and Hector pretended that he was not so selfish as to rob his brother of every victory. The reality simply was that Hector found archery boring. What glory was there to be had in killing a man when he stood such a distance away? He recognized the archers importance in times of war, but for Hector, there was no immediate challenge to engage him.

Now that he stood before Paris, Hector acknowledged how his brother had grown during their time apart. Though still slender, he had shot up quite a bit in terms of height and filled out his lanky limbs with lean muscles. His hair was longer, and the childish softness of his face was beginning to fade away. No longer was his brother an adolescent; rather, he was caught in the unforgiving limbo between boyhood and becoming a man. Hector was glad to have already passed through that doorway, but he imagined Paris would linger in between for years more, restricted by his juvenile behavior.

"I have practiced," Paris answered vaguely while he scratched the back of his head with the edge of the bow and considered the palace floor intently.

The overall image was not convincing. Thus, Hector lifted his brow and challenged, "Show me."

Paris stiffened at the prospect which only proved Hector's suspicions right, and he reluctantly wondered, "How?"

"How do you think?" the older prince countered with a chuckle. They had no practice swords gathered, so sparring it was. Hector stepped a few paces away from him and drew his shoulder blades together, cracking his upper back. It was a habit before any fight for it released the tension in the muscles of his back and extended his range of motion all the way down to his arms. Likewise, the prince tilted his head from side to side briefly, pulling at the taught muscles of his neck and shoulders, and Paris watched with stunned eyes as he clearly recognized what was about to take place. Once he had loosened up slightly, he asked, "Are you ready?"

"This is not a fair test," Paris sputtered and took a step away, hovering with his weight over his back leg. In such a state, he almost appeared poised to flee.

"Why is that?"

"You are not an appropriate opponent."

The response came off as an insult, and Hector rejoined, "I can assure you I am."

"You are not an appropriate opponent for _me_," Paris vainly attempted to explain. "I have not fought in war… This is not a fair test." He evidently only had a few objections available at that moment, and thus he repeated them over and over, hoping one of the times Hector would accept it. Paris was not so lucky.

"Attack me," Hector gruffly commanded, but to his annoyance, Paris' gaze drifted from his brother to some distraction behind him. His mouth fell ajar slightly, and he tilted his head for a better look around his brother's broad form. Hector turned to see what had captured his younger sibling's attention only to realize it was none other than Ismene. She purposely avoided Hector's gaze, and her voluptuous frame was lined with her evident irritability while she made her way down the corridor and toward her chambers. Hector sighed to himself as he noted he would need to make up for his rash behavior the night before, and he supposed he would send a dress to her or perhaps a new pair of earrings. Keeping a satisfied mistress was taxing -especially considering his brooding nature as of late. Hector returned his attention to Paris and smirked at the young man's obvious desire for Ismene. The older prince might as well have been invisible for as much attention Paris gave him, and Hector acknowledged his own wisdom in assuming Paris did not have the discipline to learn any more fighting techniques. Where Hector was a warrior, Paris was a lover. It was merely the way of thins, and he doubted anything would change that. "Should I call her back, or have you had your fill, brother?"

Paris gathered his wits in response, but he did not appear the least bit ashamed for staring longingly after the beauty. "Do you need her company every night?"

At the question, Hector burst out laughing when he realized Paris was asking to borrow her. Once he composed himself, he approached his brother and roughly patted his shoulder. "I doubt you could handle her." Not to mention, Hector did not enjoy sharing his things.

"It has been three years since you left, but you still treat me as a child," Paris angrily accused in a way that was too ironically immature to truly be amusing.

"Show me that you are a man, and I will treat you as such," he sharply retorted as though admonishing a child. "For now, focus on your training, and perhaps one day you will be ready for such a woman." It was clear by that point in the conversation that there would be no sparring that day, and Hector allowed himself to sit on the palace steps for a moment.

"How?" Paris' gaze had fallen to the ground, and his tone was much softer in the wake of Hector's reproach. The older prince recognized the awkward struggle ensuing within the young man where he was caught between the man he should become and the child lingering on the inside. It was a battle he had fought for years, and he attempted to be more understanding as a result. "Father does not train me as he did you." Was that jealousy in Paris' tone?

'That is a blessing,' Hector mentally rejoined, and he wondered how Paris could not realize he was the favored son. Priam granted Hector years of his attention in order to mold him into the perfect crown prince, but his relationship with Paris was entirely different. Paris knew his father loved him while Hector could never be certain. He hastily pushed away the thought before it consumed his attention and offered, "If you truly wish to train, I will teach you."

"You will?" Hector firmly nodded his head, and Paris shifted from foot to foot as he considered the offer. "I would like that, brother. There is none better to teach me than you."

The older prince granted him a partial smile at the compliment, but part of Hector still doubted the integrity of his vow. He stood from the steps then and instructed, "Meet me at the armory tomorrow around this time, and we will begin."

"I will. I won't disappoint you." Paris usually meant what he said when he said it, but that did not mean that tomorrow afternoon he would show up. His resolve had a way of coming and going like the waves. Hector, however, gave his brother the benefit of the doubt and turned away to head back into the palace and attend to his business for the remainder of the day.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hello lovies! Sorry for the slight delay. I was being a girl and was completely indecisive about how I wanted to divide up these next few chapters! I know you all probably want to impale me for giving Hector a mistress but hold off on the pitchforks and angry mobs haha I promise she has her purpose :)

Just a heads up to you guys: I already have some later chapters planned which will require me to bump up the rating to M. I might just do it on one of the next chapters to get it over with, so I don't forget later. If anyone has any problems with this, feel free to comment or send me a PM :)

Thank you KawaiiHawaiian and AmyLNelson for the reviews! Kawaii: Kowabunga! :D Sorry to hear you had a long day at work, but then again, I think that working entails a long day haha I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter and hopefully it gave you a little reprieve afterward :) I adore Isidora too haha Even though she can be a pain in the butt sometimes, her heart is in the right place, and she's the closest thing Myrina and her brothers have to a mother-figure. When I was thinking about her character, I was really inspired by the relationship between the Nurse and Juliet in Shakespeare's play. It's this weird balance between subservience and being motherly, and I almost want her blatant dislike of Hector to be comical at times. I'm planning on her having a bigger role in the coming chapters, so hopefully that pans out. Right. Well that was a longwinded response. Sorry for that! I hope you liked this chapter and will continue reading :D Amy: A little spark indeed, but sometimes it only takes a spark to ignite a flame (winkwink nudgenudge)… I don't know why I'm still acting like this is some big mystery when it's in the summary hahaha Oh well. I would like to keep you guessing as much as I can even though you already have an idea where it's headed! I like Korina too. I actually just brought her up for the kissing scene which was pretty important for Myrina, and when I was writing her, she just came out so sweet. I'll try to keep her around since you like her, and I think she could definitely add a fun element to the story on Myrina's side. Have a lovely day! xoxo


	15. When We Were Young

Chapter 14  
"When We Were Young"

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Recommended Songs: "Sweet Disposition" – The Temper Trap & "Intuition" – Feist

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The dull clank as wooden practice swords met echoed through the otherwise empty armory. Though Paris' attention easily waned and drifted off to consider anything but the present moment, he caught on fast enough, and he listened when Hector spoke –at least for the most part. However, he was far too hesitant, slow, and irrational during combat. He allowed his emotions to take over and would swing blindly at Hector whenever he became frustrated. It was all too easy for Hector to disarm, overcome, or hit him, but he attempted to hold back if only to keep from discouraging his brother. His overly emotional nature forced Hector to be more tactful and reserved in his critiques. At times Hector's impatience ignited his short temper, and he lashed out a Paris. On one occasion, the latter looked near tears, and Hector had dismissed him before he upset him any further. They had met each day for a week now, and they were falling into a sort of ritual. Hector was admittedly impressed that Paris showed up each day, though he supposed in reality Paris realized he could not hide from Hector.

At that moment, Paris swung, and Hector ducked easily beneath the blow. The former ran past his brother who straightened and stepped toward him, but Paris deflected his brother's blade and continued a few feet ahead of him where he turned around expectantly. Although Hector continually encouraged Paris to attack him since it was the best way for him to learn, Paris seemed much more comfortable defending himself. The older prince lifted an eyebrow when he met his brother's gaze and warned him, "You cannot always flee." Of course it seemed like Hector had been saying that for the past few days, but Paris had a way of evading others' commands. Furthermore, his emotional state made it impossible for Hector to be too vicious in his scolding. At length, Hector calmly advanced toward his younger sibling. "Fight me, Paris." Bolstered by his brother's demand, he hit Hector's blade and swung at the other man's chest once more. As before, Hector ducked it and made a note to comment on it. Rather than speaking, he shot forward in his crouched position, hitting his blade right at Paris' waist.

The younger prince groaned in annoyance as he realized he had lost and dropped his blade to his side. "I will never be as swift or strong as you."

"We have practiced for barely a week. You cannot be so impatient. How can you expect to best me when I have trained each day for years?" Hector idly tossed his practice sword from one hand to the other before pointing it at Paris' chest. "You only fight one way." To show what he meant, he swung horizontally, a move his brother used time and time again, and continued, "I have shown you other techniques. You must constantly be aware of your opponent and react to his moves. You will not win a fight if you don't counter every action appropriately. You need to anticipate your opponent."

"How can I ever do that?" the young man responded with his dismay evident. Paris would often surrender rather than push forward and truly commit to trying. Maybe it was a fear of failure or his perpetual laziness.

Hector smiled at him in what he hoped was an encouraging manner and answered, "Practice." With that, he swung his sword various ways to remind Paris of other techniques to employ all the while speaking, "Think of your blade as an extension of your arm. Every move starts with your shoulder and continues to the tip. Allow your instincts to guide your attack, and you will fare better." Paris watched intently though Hector appeared as natural and at ease with a blade in hand as a painter with his brush. All mortals were forced to utilize the tools the gods had given them, and Paris did not for one moment think his was a weapon. Oblivious to his brother's thoughts, Hector said, "Try again."

After a moment of hesitation, Paris gathered his strength and lunged at his brother who caught the blade with his own before quickly throwing it off. Paris retaliated and swung downward, but Hector sidestepped the attack, watching as the wooden sword passed inches from his chest. Paris lifted his sword, aiming for his brother's shoulder, but Hector twisted swiftly and halted its advance. Once more, he threw it off, but Paris was growing frustrated and attacked with more fervor. He swung immediately, and Hector ducked the blow, shooting back up to grab his wrist and twist Paris' arm behind his back. It seemed a suitable punishment and reminder not to allow his emotions to overcome him. The younger prince cried out in pain and dropped his sword in surrender before Hector released him. Now that he was free, Paris rubbed his shoulder with a grimace of simultaneous annoyance and anger.

"That was better," Hector said earnestly, but his brother was already sulking. His dark curls clung to his forehead, and his slender form was covered in a thin layer of sweat. After a moment's thought, Hector picked up his brother's discarded wooden sword from the ground and headed toward the racks where they were kept. "That is enough for today. You should train on your own for the next few days." Honestly, Hector doubted that would happen, but he didn't want to nor did he have the time to spend every afternoon working with his brother –especially when the likelihood of Paris ever using his training was slim to none.

"I will," the younger man promised and eagerly slipped away once he was dismissed, and Hector did not have the time to say another word.

In fact the older prince didn't even realize his brother had left until he turned around and found he was alone. He chuckled and admitted to himself that Paris was fairly sly and swift only when he wanted to be. "What will I do with you?" he murmured under his breath as he stepped out of the armory and headed toward the market square. Hector often enjoyed walking through his beloved city and seeing the everyday life of his countrymen. The smells, the sights, and the people were all in some way simultaneously familiar and unknown to the prince, and he slowed his pace occasionally to take in the scene as he walked back toward the palace. The sound of children's laughter caught his attention, and he noted three boys chasing each other through the narrow square. They were being rowdy and careless, and inevitably one of the boys knocked a basket out of a woman's arms. Rather than remaining to help her and risk being chided for their behavior, they sprinted away from the scene, and one of the boys ran directly into Hector's large form. It was similar to hitting a stone wall for the small child, and he fell backwards with a cry of surprise, landing firmly on his backside. The prince restrained a smirk and squatted down in front of the boy. "You should be more careful where you play. Help that woman gather her things."

The boy was clearly a peasant, and his face was dirty from running about all afternoon. He frowned deeply at the command and snapped back viciously, "I don't have to listen to you. Leave me be, or you will be sorry."

Hector could no longer hold back a grin of amusement that the tiny boy was threatening him. It was too impossible to actually be dangerous, and so he found it comical. Still, he warned, "Do not make threats you cannot uphold."

"I could beat you if I wanted!" he stubbornly retorted without hesitation.

"He is the prince!" one of the boy's young friends hissed in alarm once he noted the royal emblem hanging from the chain about Hector's neck.

In response, all the color drained from the boy's face, and he scrambled to his feet. "I meant no insult, my lord." He was already backing away as he spoke, and he suddenly turned to flee, fearing that the prince would punish him for speaking so caustically.

Hector easily caught the young boy's shoulder while his friends ran away, and the prince turned him in the direction of the woman who was still bent over gathering the disrupted contents of her basket. "Help her, and then you may leave." At the order, the young boy drug his feet as he headed back toward the woman. He glanced over his shoulder, likely hoping Hector had turned away, but the man was watching him intently to be sure he completed the task. Hector lifted his chin when the boy looked back, and the simple gesture made him twist forward immediately. He knelt beside the woman and aided her in gathering her things. The woman began scolding him for his behavior, but Hector chuckled to himself and turned his attention to the rest of the square.

His short journey through the market was a welcome reprieve from the ritual of his daily life, and he enjoyed it as though it were a breath of fresh air in a crowded room. His usual escape to the village was not an option at that time. In fact it had been over a week since he had last seen Myrina, and he tried not to consider why he avoided visiting her. Perhaps he was afraid that his prior conviction about their purely platonic friendship would be proven correct, and that he would be disappointed by that fact. Though he did not necessarily wish for anything more to become of their relationship, now that the seed had been planted in his head, it possessed his thoughts daily. It was still aloof to him, however, as he could not grasp his true feelings on the subject. It could be because he never allowed his thoughts to linger on it long enough to fully understand it. He was not normally someone to hide or to retreat, but he was not yet ready to face her either, not until he had a firm handle on things. Evidently fate had other plans.

Hector paused in the center of the market and smiled as he swept his gaze over the crowd gathered in the small space. People were bartering in raised tones, the smell of various foods wafted across the space, and brightly colored material moved with the slight breeze where it hung from several stands. The scene was so vivacious and saturated with activity and life that it sent a shock through his form, awaking the more lighthearted, pleasant nature within him. His eyes fell on a familiar face, but initially he did not recognize it. However, he turned back to consider the woman again and frowned slightly as he noted it was Myrina's servant. She wore a simple grey veil to cover her hair, but her face was turned in his direction, revealing the sour expression lining her wrinkled features. Realizing that if Isidora were in the market Myrina likely was as well, he turned around, quickly searching the crowd for her fair face. She was nowhere to be seen around Isidora, and he could not locate her in the dense mass of people elsewhere. Though he pretended not to notice at first, his heart sped up excitedly at the possibility of seeing his young friend once more. No matter what had passed between them over a week ago, he enjoyed her company, and the prospect of unintentionally running into her made him forget his initial apprehension toward meeting with her. At length, the prince caved to his desires and pushed his way through the crowd and toward the old woman. Her beady eyes noticed the tall man approaching, and they narrowed when they recognized his face. She stood her ground to Hector's relief since he would hate to have to chase her through the market, but he did not think courtesy would be otherwise afforded to him in their conversation. "Where is your lady?" he asked once he reached her.

Isidora pursed her thin lips and was undoubtedly deciding whether she could lie on this occasion. "About," she vaguely decided.

"You know not where?" the prince pried, and his excitement made him more impatient than usual.

"I am old," she continued, and he swore he saw a sliver of happiness in her eyes at being able to have the upper hand with him. "I cannot always keep up with her. She slipped away from my sight."

Hector did not buy the tale for one moment and countered, "You have allowed her to wander about the market without a chaperone? I did not know you were so irresponsible."

The edge of her mouth twitched at the insult, and she grumbled near a protective growl, "She is safe."

"How can you be certain when you do not know her whereabouts?" Hector victoriously cocked an eyebrow and smirked. "Or have you dared to lie to a prince of Troy?"

"Isidora!"

The call came from behind the old woman, and Hector's head snapped to attention when he heard the familiar, velvety voice. Beneath him, Isidora heaved a heavy sigh of annoyance that Myrina had betrayed her own position. The young woman was situated beside a stand further ahead, and he had not noticed her before since a group of men were hiding her short form from his line of sight. She raised herself up onto her toes to peer over the crowd and searched for the old woman whom she had beseeched only moments earlier. Instead, her blue-green eyes settled on the tall man standing out among the crowd. Her fallen features spoke of her shock at seeing him, and she swiftly lowered her heels back to the ground, tucking away once more into the crowd. Hector would not let her escape him so easily, and he pushed forward until he stepped up to the stand and saw her nervously waiting nearby with a basket in her hands. She peered down at the contents, allowing her hair to fall around her face like a veil. It was almost the childish idea that if she could not see him, he could not see her. It could not be any farther from the truth.

Hector grinned when he saw her though the action was not returned, and he took the basket from her arms to give her a reprieve. "I am glad I walked through the market today," he admitted after a moment of silence.

"You should not speak with me here," Myrina murmured with her gaze to the ground as though to hide the fact that she was even talking, and she self-consciously adjusted the thin shawl around her shoulders.

"Why not?" Hector rejoined and chuckled slightly. Now that they were on his territory, he felt suddenly much bolder around her.

"Someone will notice."

"And what will they say?" he rejoined without hesitation. "That Hector, Prince of Troy, was seen conversing with a young woman?" Reluctantly, she peered up at him through her hair, and he pressed on, "The gossips will welcome the change in topic. I think they have grown tired of discussing my brother and his blunders each day." Though she finally straightened and tucked her hair behind her ear, she was still clearly uncomfortable with conversing in such a public place. Hector thought quickly and took her elbow, guiding her down an alleyway between two buildings and to an opening at the back where women washed their laundry. Sheets of white linen hung from the lines to dry, and there was not a soul in sight for the time being. "Will you speak to me now?"

Myrina looked around the space until she seemed satisfied with their relative solitude. At length, she tilted her head back to consider her friend and cautiously asked, "You are not upset with me?"

He smiled gently down at her when he realized she still was embarrassed about what had passed a week earlier and reminded her, "I told you I was not."

Despite the reassurance, her hands were clasped before her, and she wrung them as she was prone to when she was nervous or anxious. "I'm sorry."

"Why apologize when I have already forgotten?" His words finally had an impact, and she visibly relaxed in front of him. Out of curiosity, she advanced further into the space, exploring it slowly. A peaceful silence fell between them while Hector watched her weave her way in and out of the hanging linen. "Have you been practicing?" he asked abruptly. At the query, Myrina paused and peered around a piece of cloth in mute question as to what he was referring to. Hector gave her a secret smile and lifted one of his arms to show her a fist.

Immediately, she ducked her head in embarrassment and shrank back behind the cover of the sheet, remembering the encounter days before. Once she composed herself and was sure she was not blushing, she continued her way through the linen. "How can I practice? I cannot ask my brothers… and certainly not Isidora."

The image of Myrina punching the old servant made Hector laugh lightly, and he acknowledged, "I said I would help you."

She shifted uncomfortably then and resolved, "Not today." Frankly, she feared any repetition of what had occurred the last time.

"Very well." They reached an opening with a large well where the woman washed their laundry. Hector took a seat at the edge and tilted his chin downward slightly against the sun overhead while considering the young woman from beneath his brow. She remained among the hanging laundry, slipping in and out of his view as she worked her way through the space.

When she reached an opening, she turned to him and voiced a thought which had been nearly choking her in its desire to be made known. "You say you are not upset with me, yet I have not seen you in over a week."

It did not come out as a question, but Hector understood it as such. "I told you long ago that I could not promise I would come each week. My days are not so free, Myrina. Do not take it as an insult." Despite the space between them, her eyes bore into his, searching for any sign of deceit. After a moment, she seemed pleased with his sincerity and continued her slow journey. "Have you been well?" he called out to her since she had disappeared from his sight once more.

"Yes, but I have been busy. I told you my brother is to be married. I came to the market today to pick up some things for the event."

"You are pleased with his match," Hector recalled.

"Yes. I think they are perfect for one another." She found a gap in the sheets and peeked around one to find Hector's gaze. "They are so in love with one another. I have seen nothing like it."

He could not be sure how she expected him to answer such a statement, but she often spoke her mind without desiring any specific response from him. Eventually, he offered, "That is fortunate. I pray they have a long life together."

"So do I." There was a brief silence before she asked, "What has preoccupied you so much as of late?"

For obvious reasons, Hector would not dare discuss his mistress with Myrina. It did not seem an appropriate topic, and thus, his mind searched for some other plausible lie. "I have been training my brother in combat."

To his pleasure, her head peeked around a sheet, revealing that she was grinning brightly. "To punch?"

The way her face brightened with her smile always caused Hector to return the gesture, and he chuckled in amusement at her response. "Among other things."

"What is he like, your brother? You know so much of my brothers and father, and yet I know nothing of your family... Nothing aside from gossip."

It was true that Hector didn't often speak of his family though he was not entirely sure why. For the moment, he didn't think about it and attempted to answer her question instead. "What do you wish to know?"

"Is he older or younger than you?"

"Younger."

"Did he go to Greece with you?"

"No. He does not fight with the army."

"Why not?"

"My father does not require it of him."

That answer caught her attention, and she paused between two sheets with her brow knit curiously. "Why must you fight?"

"Because I am the crown prince," he answered as if it were obvious, "and I choose to."

She tilted her head while considering some thought, but she ultimately decided not to voice it and continued her line of questioning. "Why are you training him if he will not go to battle?"

"It is necessary. It will teach him discipline and strength." He paused and added, "Should I ever die, he will be king. He should prepare himself even if he is not directly in line."

By that time, she stepped out into the opening and sat beside Hector on the edge of the well. She dipped one of her hands into the cool water, monitoring the ripples she caused across the glassy surface. He watched her intently rather than considering the effect she had on the water. Being near her reminded him that he had missed her and the calming presence she had on him. It was almost addictive how she could rid him of any cares or worries for the brief time they were together, but he also remembered how she had caused a sleepless night for him only a week ago. Why did the prospect of losing their friendship worry him so much? Observing her slow, distracted movements, the memory of that innocent, young girl constantly floated in the periphery of his mind even when he was faced with the woman she had become. As if reading his thoughts, she turned her head and granted him a look at the startling turquoise eyes which set her apart from any other woman he had seen. It was true that he recognized her beauty each time they met, and that there were times it stirred something within him which he could not name. Still, he was stubborn in his resolve, and he did not think that his new attention toward her should interfere with their current relationship. However, she had always had a way of drawing out the worst in him even when he meant well.

"Why are you staring at me?" she asked softly and disrupted his thoughts.

He had not realized so much time had passed while watching her, and he turned his head away a little too quickly. "No reason." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that she touched her face, perhaps searching for the cause of his undivided attention toward her. "When will your brother be married?" he asked to shift the subject.

"Five days' time." The thought seemed unfinished, but she paused to decide how she wanted to voice it. "It will be strange... Not seeing him each morning."

"Are you close?"

"Not very," she admitted with a slight smile. "But I love him nonetheless, and I will miss him."

"Why do you speak as though he is leaving you?"

"I know he will still remain in the village and still go out to sea with my father each day, but in so many ways he is beginning a new life without us. It is difficult to let go of him even though I know he is not truly leaving me." Her voice was heavy with the weight of her sorrow, and Hector instinctively took her hand, squeezing it comfortingly. At the feeling, she raised her gaze to meet his and smiled gently in response to the gesture before leaning against his side. In that way, he physically and mentally supported her for the time, and he was pleased to offer her any relief from her sadness. He much preferred her happy and smiling, but being friends meant occasionally allowing her to lean on him. He was strong enough to shelter her. "Do you ever wonder when you will be married?" she asked with her head still resting against his shoulder.

"No," he rejoined earnestly. "I will be one day." Honestly, he dreamt of war and battle, not his marriage. It was far too quixotic to be any concern of his. He would no doubt be married to a princess, and their union would provide a fruitful alliance for Troy. He would be a loyal husband, he would provide her with what she required, and she would in turn bear his children; but that was the extent marriage in his mind. It was logical and concrete, not some fantasy worthy of his sisters' imaginations.

"Will you still see me... when you are married?"

He smiled down at the crown of her head when she voiced the question, and she seemed so innocent to him in that moment. "I should think I will, but I doubt your husband would like me visiting you."

"It is well then that I do not think I will be married," she countered in complete sincerity.

"You say that each time," he acknowledged, and his smile fell. He could not understand her aversion to marriage. It simply did not make sense to him.

She lifted her head and turned to peer up at him. "I would be sad to lose you." With the admission, her gaze pierced through him with such a force that he turned away to regain his wits. At that moment, he became aware that he was still holding her hand, and it felt so small considering how his nearly engulfed it. He could not answer her for some reason. The words evaded him, and his full concentration was on the contact of their joined hands. Oblivious to the reason behind his silence, she continued, "Thank you for being kind to me. You have always been kind to me."

It made him smirk, thinking of their first meeting years ago, and he glanced back at her briefly. "I am kind because you have not cried."

The gentle quip made her giggle and effectively drew her from her drear thoughts. "I should find Isidora before she thinks you have captured me."

Hector laughed only because he truly did think the old woman would suspect such a silly thing. "Did you see I was speaking with her earlier? She would not tell me where you were."

"Forgive her," she requested with a sigh. "She means well by caring for me, but she still treats me as though I am a child." Her eyes considered their joined hands before meeting his gaze, and she said with a broad grin, "She worries that you will charm me." The idea evidently amused Myrina greatly because it seemed so absurd.

"Assure her that I am anything but charming toward you," he quipped swiftly. Her laughter was contagious when it rang out until Hector joined her, and they both reveled in the private joke.

Once her laugher subsided, she stood, inadvertently taking Hector's hand with her. They both noticed at the exact same moment and released each other without a word. Ignoring the slight awkwardness, she confessed, "I am glad I saw you today."

"As am I." He stood with her, and they weaved their way back through the linen and to the alleyway.

Myrina hesitated at the opening and asked, "When will I see you next?"

"Perhaps in a few days," he said uncertainly and looked down the alley and toward the crowded market place.

"Do not come on my brother's wedding day," she warned.

He nodded and recalled, "He will be wed in five days."

"Yes... My brothers and father will not be at sea that day of course."

"I understand." He granted her a reassuring smile, and she seemed pleased that he would not forget. She took her basket from his grip then and nestled it back into the crook of her arm as a silent signal of her imminent departure. Once she seemed prepared, he said, "Be well."

"I will," she promised and slipped away from him without another word. He gave her a moment's start ahead of him before stepping out of the alleyway after her. It was a simple precaution in case any wandering eyes caught them though admittedly Hector was still not too concerned about anyone noticing their private discussion. It was not uncommon for a prince to speak with young women, and if the gossips caught wind of the encounter, their discussions would fizzle out as soon as they began. When he worked his way through the crowded square, his chestnut eyes located Myrina and the old servant where they were standing not too far away. The former was staring at him, waiting for him to notice her, and when their gazes met, she smiled brightly. Isidora, however, took notice, grabbed her arm, and pulled her away. Hector soon lost her in the midst of the crowd, but for a brief moment, he stared after her in case she surfaced among the crowd once more. At length, he turned away and continued his journey to the palace without looking back for her.

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**Author's Note**: Hey dolls! I always feel like such a perv whenever I have Hector talking about sword fighting because all I can think about are penises... Yep. I have the maturity level of a prepubescent boy evidently haha :) I'm really excited about the next chapter because I have been planning this upcoming scene _forever_! So stick around my loves because fun is on the way! P.s. The M rating will come about with the next chapter (but I promise Myrina and Hector will not have sex on a mountain top in the next chapter hahaha)!

Thank you to KawaiiHawaiian, Avatar2009, and AmyLNelson for the fantastic reviews! Kawaii: We already discussed the amazingness that was the royal wedding haha Yea it's a little bit ironic how neither Paris nor Hector is really satisfied with their relationship with their father, and they somehow think the other sibling's is better! Aeneas of course will appear again. I'm assuming you're asking because you like his character... I have to be honest, he is SO much fun to write. He's such a cad, but he's so damn charming about it. I really think he is in love with all woman, all sizes, all looks haha I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far, and I hope you liked this chapter too :D Avatar: You are so sweet! Honestly... I would love to have more stories, but I think I only have the mental capacity to do one at a time haha I am way too ADD. I would probably never finish anything if I didn't commit to one and force my attention to that story haha I'm really flattered though that you like the story, and I hope you continue reading :) xoxo Amy: Hello Miss Jello! ;P The thing about feeling like Myrina waiting for Hector's visits was so effing adorable! Snaps for you haha. I'm going to be honest here. I have not like 100% figured out what I'm going to do with Ismene, but I think simply showing her interaction with Hector portrays the sort of relationship he is comfortable with: one where he is in control, can remain distant, does not have to invest himself fully in it. I'm going to really give greater insight into that in the next chapter, and you'll get more of an idea why it's important (in my opinion anyway haha). I'm glad you like Paris. We'll see if Hector can help him grow a pair ;) Take care lovely!


	16. Set Fire to the Rain

Chapter 15  
"Set Fire to the Rain"

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Recommended Songs: "Letters from the Sky" – Civil Twilight & "Closer" – Nine Inch Nails

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"How does it look?"

The group of women gathered all gave the appropriate sounds of awe and approval in response to Korina's question, and Myrina for one grinned broadly when she saw her new friend and soon-to-be sister standing in the center of the room in a light blue dress. The color stood out in contrast to her bronze skin, and it made the chocolate brown of her curls and eyes seem much richer by comparison. Korina had invited her over during the last week to help with the preparations for the wedding, and among other things, that included viewing her in the dress she would wear on the special day. Korina's mother had sewn it, and the old woman was absolutely beaming as she admired her daughter in the gown. Though they were not particularly rich, she toiled night and day to sew it to the best of her abilities. It was fairly simple, but the way Korina radiated in it made the plain dress appear instantly more beautiful on her frame.

"It seems a bit loose in the back," Korina admitted, tugging at the material to show how it gave far too much.

"That is a simple fix," her mother assured her calmly and stepped forward with a few pins in hand to make the necessary adjustments. The other women likewise swarmed around the young woman to attend to her every need while Myrina stood a short distance from the group. Korina caught her gaze and grinned happily amidst the mild chaos ensuing around her over a slight gap in the dress. In response, Myrina swiftly returned the gesture though truthfully if she was forced to chatter nonsensically for another moment about the wedding, she feared she would go mad. She did not mean it in a spiteful way. In the short time that they had come to know one another, Myrina adored Korina as she would a sister. Unfortunately even that bond and solidarity could not rid Myrina of her general annoyance toward weddings of any capacity. It was easy initially to be happy for her brother and Korina, and she still was of course; but now she found herself irritated by the endless planning, the incessant discussion of the wedding, all the repetitive advice the older women gave Korina, and especially how often they would turn to Myrina and comment that she should be wed soon. Each time Myrina was forced to smile politely and try her hardest to dismiss the topic without sounding abrasive. With these women, that was easier said than done.

They were soon pushed from the room while Korina changed, and her mother helped her pin the final adjustments to the dress. Consequently, there was no one to distract the group, and they swooped like hungry vultures down upon the only young, unmarried woman available: Myrina. They began openly discussing her narrow frame –"It will make bearing children quite painful," one woman had commented to Myrina's horror– or other features about her that would either aid or hinder her search for a suitable match. Myrina had not truly even been aware that she was meant to be on the hunt. Did men not pursue women?

"You are not necessarily _searching_," another woman clarified. "You have a fair face, but with your bo-"

"Men enjoy a woman to be more bountiful," one brunette woman interrupted to explain, and she incidentally had the largest breasts Myrina had ever seen in her entire life. It was a small wonder she had any surviving children. She could only imagine how the woman nearly suffocated them while breastfeeding.

Someone else grabbed the skin on the back of her arm and pulled, causing her to jump in surprise, and the old woman pinching her acknowledged, "You are too slender. Skin and bones. Double your meals."

"You will need to help men see your beauty despite what you may be lacking," the voluptuous woman commented so dryly one would think they were not fragrantly insulting her. True, they had afforded her some time to comment on the unusual color of her eyes, and how beautiful they were. Evidently that lured her into a false sense of security among their presence when their only purpose was to leave her feeling far more self-conscious than ever before. Myrina harbored no misconceptions about her looks, but she had never known she was so unattractive. The way the women portrayed her, she would be lucky to have a man grant her a second glance. Perhaps truthfully she would never be married.

"Leave her alone, you old hags," Korina hissed as she stepped out of the room in her usual dress and overheard the latest comment made to Myrina. Her attention turned to her friend, and she assured her in a gentle tone, "Do not listen to them. They said the same of me but months ago, and now I will be married in two days' time."

Myrina was grateful for Korina's intervention, but in truth, the damage had already been done. "I should return home. I need to begin preparing supper."

"Must you leave so soon?" Korina rejoined with hopeful eyes, suggesting that she wanted Myrina to stay. She stepped forward and took Myrina's elbow, guiding her a few feet away from the group of women who conveniently quieted in an attempt to eavesdrop. "I spoke truthfully. Pay them no mind. They spend their days criticizing young women to feel better about their waning beauty. Do not allow them to insult you."

"I know," Myrina lied with a smile and patted her friend's arm. "You looked so beautiful in your dress. I fear Aeton will cease breathing when he sees you."

Korina humbly lowered her chin at the compliment and admitted in a softer voice, "Secretly that is what I wish for." The young women laughed together, and Korina drew her into a tight hug. "Will you visit me again tomorrow? There is still so much to be done, and you keep me sane with these women."

Honestly Myrina would rather scoop horse manure than stand for another second among those haggard vultures, but she recognized that this was a time when she needed to be selfless for her dear friend. "I will," she promised though she nearly grimaced as she voiced the words.

"Thank you," Korina said earnestly. Rather than responding, Myrina simply smiled and excused herself from the house to head back across the village and toward her home. Despite the short journey, her mind was weighed down heavily by the women's comments, and the cloudy sky overhead seemed an appropriate expression of her drear, hurt mood. She recognized that on some level Korina had been correct in pointing out the purpose behind their mean-spirited chatter, but that did not stop the venomous words from poisoning her thoughts and shattering her confidence.

"I have returned," Myrina called out as she stepped into the home and directed her path toward the kitchen. Isidora did not answer which was unusual, but Myrina assumed the old woman had found something to distract her or perhaps she had simply not heard Myrina's entrance. Regardless, the young woman's attention was still on the caustic words, so she could not spare enough thought to ponder Isidora's silence. Stepping into the kitchen, her eyes briefly scanned the small space to note that the servant was nowhere to be seen. At that moment, heavy hands roughly grabbed her shoulders, and Myrina screamed out in fear as she spun on her heel and was faced with a tall, cloaked form.

The sound of his hearty laughter betrayed him, and Hector pulled back the hood to reveal his identity. Apparently he was beyond pleased with himself for successfully surprising her, but Myrina was far from amused by his trick. Little did he know she was already in a foul mood before his little stunt, and she glared icily up at him while feeling so much hatred for him in that moment. "I wondered how much longer you would be. Your servant grew tired of my company and fled," he said through his laughter. Impulsively, Myrina's right hand curled into a tight fist, and she swung back and punched Hector directly in the gut with every bit of anger, embarrassment, and frustration channeled into her blow. The prince was not expecting such a form of retaliation, and she hit him far harder than in their practice so long ago. It surprised him more than it pained him, and looking down at her, his smile fell as he realized she truly wanted to hurt him. However, he thought her reaction was a bit extreme for what he did. Thus, he did not wish to apologize so easily and instead taunted, "You still punch like a child."

As he had anticipated, her face contorted under her vicious anger, and she swung back to hit him again. Hector easily grabbed her arm now that he was prepared, and she writhed against him in a vain attempt to release herself. "Let go of me," she growled. Unfortunately for her, Hector had no such plan in mind, and he quickly thought of a way to force her to abandon her anger. He pulled her tightly against him, wrapping an arm around her waist to hold her in place and keep her arms pinned at her sides, and he then used his free hand to tickle her. Myrina clenched her jaw and fought it at first, but she could not hold in the giggles for too long. They poured out of her in a sudden deluge, and she struggled against him for an entirely different reason. Hector laughed as he watched her writhe within his grip. "Stop!" she begged in a breathless gasp of air. The prince only attacked her with more fervor until her knees buckled, and he was truly the only thing holding her up. Regaining a bit of her strength out of sheer will power, she formulated a plan for her escape. Without hesitation, she drove her heel down on Hector's foot, and the latter cried out as he released her. Myrina was still gasping for air when she turned around to face him, but her broad, victorious smile was in place at being able to overcome him.

The prince would not nearly give up so soon. Realizing his intent, Myrina grabbed her dress and ran to the other side of the kitchen table. He placed his palms on the surface, poised to catch her whichever direction she took. "You cannot run," he warned, but even he was grinning at their unexpected game. Suddenly, she grabbed a fig and threw it at Hector who quickly ducked it before it could collide with his face. The momentary distraction was enough to give her a head start, but the prince bolted after her, hot on her heels when she fled out of the kitchen door and to the back of the house.

Her laughter trailed back at him as she sprinted away. He had forgotten how fast she was, and he picked up his pace to catch her. Though they were only playing, Hector wouldn't allow a woman to outrun him no matter the circumstances. Above them, white lightening flashed across the sky, and all was quiet before a crack like a whip rumbled through the heavens. The dark storm clouds overhead blocked out the sun's rays, but the pair didn't cease their chase. Then all at once, the heavens opened up, and rain poured down on them. Myrina stopped ahead of him at the feeling and lifted her arms from her sides to catch the thick drops in her palms. Likewise, Hector slowed to a halt behind her and bent his head back, allowing the cool drops to hit his face. It rarely ever rained in Troy, and they both took a moment to enjoy the unusual display of nature. Returning his attention to the young woman in front of him, he chuckled when she lifted her arms out parallel to the ground on either side of her and spun like a top on her heels. Her childish behavior amused him, but even he couldn't deny that the rain made him wish to be young again. The drops was warm where they hit his skin, and he welcomed the contact. The air was crisp, and every sense felt heightened beneath the falling rain. It gave a renewed vitality to the plains and had a similar effect on the pair. When Myrina finally stopped, she was quite dizzy and stumbled briefly before she found her balance, all the while still laughing. She turned around then to face him with a wide grin displayed across her features and pieces of her damp hair stuck to her face.

Initially, Hector smiled back, but his enthusiasm faded away as he stared at her and noted a very unexpected change in her appearance. Myrina was admittedly confused by his sudden shift in demeanor, and she tilted her head slightly as she considered what could have caused it. Had she done something wrong? She soon noted, however, that his eyes weren't on her face as hers were on his. Instead, the chestnut orbs were intently scanning her form, and she dropped her chin out of curiosity to see what about her had drawn his attention. The sight caused her to suck in a sharp gasp of breath for it was nothing that she would ever have suspected, and her eyes widened as she realized how foolish she had been. With the rain beating down on her, her white dress had virtually turned transparent where it covered her skin, and her heart raced unsteadily with this realization. She looked at Hector once more, but she was too stunned to immediately feel anything but numb shock. This time his eyes met hers, and there was some darkness lingering within them that she didn't recognize. It made her heartbeat pick up even more, and her breathing was shaky and drawn as she stared at him, feeling so vulnerable and exposed. All at once her wits returned, and she swiftly crossed her arms over her chest in an attempt to hide her breasts from his sight, but there was still plenty else on display for him. The water weighed down the delicate white material, and it clung to every curve of her frame like a second skin. She dropped her gaze self-consciously and turned from him to give herself more cover, but her cheeks blushed fiercely for he had no doubt already seen everything that was unintentionally on display for him.

Behind her, she felt his approach more than hearing it. Somehow she simply knew that he was coming closer though she couldn't see him, and every passing second increased her anxiety and embarrassment. The uncertainty of how he would react to her exposed body left her trembling beneath the thin layer of water on her skin, and it was a wonder her knees still supported her considering how weak she felt the moment he stood directly behind her. Her breathing was erratic much like her heartbeat, and her mind raced vainly as she tried to anticipate what he would do or say. Then she felt a weight on her shoulders, and the black material of his cloak fell around her feet. She took hold of the edges of the thick cloak and drew it closer around her to shield her wet form. Though some part of her was grateful for the cover, she was still far too mortified and shocked to truly feel any sense of graciousness or relief. She took her time gathering the tattered remains of her confidence and strength so that she could hesitantly peer up over her shoulder at him and perhaps gauge his reaction. With the innocent gesture, she realized only too late how close he was to her. His face was mere inches from her own, and her breath caught painfully in her throat at the unexpected proximity. That strange darkness still permeated his chestnut eyes, but beyond that, she couldn't read what he was thinking or feeling.

Perhaps she was too caught up attempting to decipher the complicated web of emotions now contracting around her stomach as though in anticipation of some unknown event. It seemed a nerve-wracking eternity that they stood poised like that, so close and yet not even touching. The drops hit Myrina's face, and she winced subtly against the feeling. She was far too numb and stunned to react appropriately or turn away. Then Hector bent his head lower, and she nearly trembled before him as he crept closer to her. Something beyond her control caused her to tilt her head back slightly so that it was directly in line with his, and he paused with his nose barely brushing her own. The hint of contact caused her heart to take refuge in her throat, and she ceased breathing all together as if one accidental exhale might cause him to disappear like a phantom into smoke before her. Her blue-green eyes frantically searched his as if they held the answer to all the questions swirling at a dizzying pace about her head. Why was she feeling this way? Why was he so close to her? What was he thinking? Without any explanation or warning, he modified his course by turning his head ever so slightly and brushing his lips across her cheek. She closed her eyes at the contact and forcefully exhaled the pent up breath all at once. In that sliver of a moment, she was more sensitive to the roughness of his beard on her skin than the tenderness of his lips barely touching her. Her heart skipped a beat, and she was vaguely aware how her lungs burned within her chest. The brief instance passed as quickly as it had come, and Hector pulled away as if nothing had happened at all between them.

"We should return. You need to dry off before you catch cold," he said, but his voice was much lower and rougher than she had heard it before. Words were impossible to grasp, and she simply followed him inside when he turned away from her.

Once within the confines of the home, Myrina murmured, "I should change," and turned down the hallway to her room, leaving the brooding man alone in the kitchen.

Hector initially sat on the bench, placed his elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands. With his eyes closed, he saw her against the black of his eyelids in the partially transparent dress giving him a glance at what the soft skin looked like underneath. The sight of her standing vulnerable and exposed before him had awoken a fiery desire inside of him, but he had hesitated. Abruptly he stood, nearly knocking the bench over in his wake, and he paced nervously up and down the small space. "Her cheek," he growled fiercely to himself, and his chest tightened in annoyance, frustration, and some mild sense of embarrassment. "Her cheek!" As in his first time during battle, he had hesitated when faced with what he wanted more than anything. Then it had been the glory of war, but now it was the young woman changing down the hall. The rain on his skin felt like liquid fire, igniting a previously unknown need within him. Once more the image of her supple, bronze skin, glistening in the rain, flashed before his eyes, and he nearly groaned when he acknowledged for the umpteenth time that he had missed his chance. Those plump lips were patiently awaiting him, but he had stupidly hesitated. He wished he could break something to express his sinister frustration, but then Myrina appeared at the entryway to the kitchen with a fresh dress on and her damp locks hanging down to her waist. Her gaze was self-consciously directed to the floor, and she adjusted the weight of his cloak in her arms. Seeing her once more only gave his simultaneous want and anger a direction and a target.

"Thank you," she whispered softly but would still not meet his gaze. In reference to her gratitude, she extended his cloak for him to take. She still appeared fragile and vulnerable before him even though her supple skin was tucked away once more from his sight, hidden within the folds of her dress.

"Myrina," he answered, and the heavy emotions saturating her name caused her to peer up at him from under her lashes. The innocent, self-conscious gesture seemed far more seductive from his side, and his arms twitched, caught between reaching for her and standing his ground.

When he didn't take the cloak, she pulled it back against her chest and looked away from him. "How foolish of me. I should hang it up to dry." That was not why he said her name as he had, and they both knew it. Myrina, however, could not bear to consider the alternate reason. Thus, she forced her ignorance and turned from him to set about the task she had only just assigned to herself.

Hector approached her when she moved away from him and commanded, "Look at me." Reluctantly the young woman faced him and lifted her chin so that her gaze met his. The air between them practically crackled from the electricity of their emotions, but for a long time, neither voiced a word.

"What do you wish of me?" she asked in barely a whisper, and when the words hit the air, they took on a double meaning until Hector couldn't be sure what she truly meant.

Ultimately, he was growing frustrated with her naivety. Where he had once found it endearing, he now wished she would open her eyes and return the feelings coursing through his veins. The rain had washed away the last remnants of the young child he met long ago, and he could no longer ignore the tempting woman standing in front of him. He did not wish to spell it out for her, but his gaze fell on the shell necklace situated about her slender neck. At the sight, he lifted a hand, and his fingers stroked the delicate shells as he asked, "Why do you wear this each day?"

She smiled partially as if the answer were so obvious that she didn't even understand why he would bother asking. "Because you gave it to me."

The response made his heart swell proudly for only a brief moment, but the innocence lacing her words once more robbed him of any satisfaction. He wanted her to acknowledge it. He wanted so badly for her to tell him she wanted him with even a quarter as much passion as he felt toward her that very second. "What do you think of me?" he pried and hadn't noticed that he was literally advancing on her.

She laughed lightly at his query, but it was a forced reaction that she vainly hoped would cease his line of questioning and throw him off the scent of her true feelings. She took a wary step away from him because she was not prepared to cross the bridge suddenly stretched out in front of her. "You are my dearest friend."

The words caused something to snap in him, and he roughly grabbed her head and forced his lips upon hers. Initially, she was stunned, but as she acknowledged what was happening, she writhed against him. This was not how it was supposed to occur, and she panicked when she realized she could not escape his grip. His fingers painfully dug into the back of her skull as he felt the plump flesh of her lips and lost himself in his simultaneous satisfaction and desire for more. Myrina groaned some wordless protest against his mouth, but he was deaf to her struggle. The desire and want overcame him with such a sudden force that he did not even allow himself a moment to breathe. His tongue traced the line of her bottom lip, but he did not notice was subtly quivering under his touch. He then tried to force his way into her mouth, but she stubbornly clenched her jaw in response and beat her fists against his chest. The blows did not even register in Hector's mind, and he released his thumbs to either side of her jaw, applying steady pressure until her mouth opened beyond her control. She once more moaned, but this time it was in pain. Ignoring her, his tongue pushed into her mouth, eagerly rubbing against her own, and she felt violated. The sickening recognition washed over her, and all at once, her mouth closed. Hector released her then and pulled back out of shock more than pain. She bit him.

Now that she was free, she stumbled backward blindly, running into the kitchen table and nearly tumbling to the floor in her desperate attempt to place as much space between them as possible. Hector followed with narrow, dark eyes, and she genuinely feared what he would do to her next. "Why are you doing this?"

"Do you not know?" he countered angrily, once more reminded of her innocence. It was driving him mad, and that frustration fueled him more than anything.

"Leave," she commanded, but her voice cracked as she spoke, caught somewhere between warning and begging. By that time, she had taken refuge behind the kitchen table and was still backing away from him. "If I give into you, there is no turning back."

The fearful look on her face, her wary stature, and the unsteady tone of her voice all caused Hector to pause mid-step. Staring at her, the desire melted into the periphery of his attention, and he felt numb as though waking from a dream. What he had done to her, however, was far from his imagination, and he felt immediately disgusted with himself when he recognized his lack of control. The young woman before him was quite literally trembling with such force he feared she would collapse at any second. He had caused that with his uncontrollable behavior. The guilt and self-loathing that washed over him was so consuming, he could not bear to speak a word to her or spend another moment in that cramped space. Impulsively, he turned on his heel and fled from the house.

In his wake, Myrina leaned back against the wall and slid down until she was sitting on the floor with her knees pressed into her chest. The unexpected series of events were still too near for her to process, but she lifted a hand to touch her lips. She could not seem to find the contact, and only then did she realize how badly her hands were shaking. Although their interaction was partially to blame, what had truly scared her was not Hector's behavior. It was how badly she had wanted him and how her heart had nearly exploded within her chest at the feeling of his lips pressed against her own. In a split second, their innocent relationship had morphed into some sinister beast, and she was so weak with desire in his presence that she nearly fell to her knees before him, begging him to have his fill of her.

* * *

No matter how swiftly he rode back to Troy, he could not outrun his own conscious. The guilt of what he had done to her loomed ominously overhead regardless of his position, and it was a dirty tarnish upon his soul that even the rain could not wash away. He desperately needed some distraction lest his thoughts completely consume him, but that threat was drawing nearer and nearer until Hector felt less like himself and more like a victim of the monstrous rage within him. Every few moments an imagine would flash across his mind: he saw her beautiful turquoise eyes filled to the brim with such unadulterated, raw fear that it sent a shudder of disgust through him each time. His pride painfully unravelled within him in response to the scoundrel he had shown himself to be. Once more he noted that he needed something or rather someone to draw his attention until this wave of irrational behavior passed. Luckily he had such a woman at his disposal. He strode hastily down the palace corridors and toward a room not too far from his own. The path by now had become familiar to him, and he was not fully conscious as he violently threw open the door and stepped inside.

The few servants lining the room were startled by his abrupt entrance, but there was no one present who held the power to scold him for his lack of courtesy. These were grounds where the prince firmly had his footing, and his dark eyes searched the area for his next victim. The blonde stepped into his line of sight with a gentle smile, but the slight crease in her fair brow betrayed the anxiety in her eyes. No good would come of Hector's foul mood, and there could only be one reason why he sought her out. Still, she could have no idea what fate awaited her. "My lord," she murmured in greeting and bowed her head respectfully. Little did she know manners would not ease his unrest. "What brings you to my chambers?"

He had no need to answer her questions and gruffly barked, "Leave us." Without hesitation, the servants in the chamber scattered as if their feet could not carry them swiftly enough away from the room and out of his range.

Now alone, Hector's irritation seemed to swell and overwhelm the space with a suffocating force, and Ismene shifted uncomfortably before him and spoke up, "Would you care for some wine?" Despite its rich nature, her voice shattered the tense silence of the room, and she seemed to startle herself by how sharply the sound cut through the quiet. Rather than responding, Hector advanced on her, and her breathing sped up nervously as she watched him cross the short distance between them. Once within reach, his worn hands were on her arms, and she peered up at him in shock and a slight bit of fear. She had never seen him appear so wild before, and she worried what the dramatic shift in his demeanor meant. However, she quickly shucked off her anxiety and set about the task for which she had been kept. She slowly leaned in toward him, cautious with the new, untamed man in front of her, until her lips met the grain of his beard where it began to trail off down his neck. Instead of her desired effect, he subtly tensed against her, and she paused in case her touch was unwelcome. Without warning, he roughly maneuvered her against the bed, and she fell backward with a soft cry of surprise onto the padding when the stone frame hit her calves.

Staring up at him then, she recognized the change in the darkness in his eyes to an emotion she was much more prepared to meet. A seductive smile tugged at her lips in response, and she rolled onto her hands and knees to crawl further onto the bed. Hector slowly trailed along the left side of the frame, but his gaze never left her. In that moment, he was the hunter painstakingly stalking his prey. He wanted to tear her apart. She raised herself onto her knees before him, eagerly untied the front of his shirt, and pushed it off his broad shoulders and down his arms. Without hesitation her soft lips welcomed the newly exposed skin, and she peered lustfully up at him through her lashes to gauge his response. Hector initially gave no sign of his reaction, but then he roughly pushed her back down onto the bed as if to throw her back into her rightful place beneath him. She had no time to catch herself because he immediately grabbed her legs and pulled her further toward the edge of the bed. The swift motion caused her dress to gather around her upper thighs, and Hector's eyes hinted at his dark desire as they considered the length of her exposed legs. He knocked her knees apart then and stepped forward between them. Ismene sat up immediately and removed the pins from the shoulders of her dress, and the material unraveled and fluttered down to settle at her waist, revealing the plump breasts lying underneath. Her mouth was on the taught muscles of his abdomen once more while her fingers quickly worked on the knot at his waist. Hector tangled a hand in her blonde curls and pulled, forcing her head back to look up at him. The desire and need lacing her pale green eyes was unmistakable, and looking down at her, all Hector wanted was to forget the turquoise eyes still haunting him. They had a power over him unlike anything else, and he could picture them vividly before him. He wanted her so desperately it physically pained him.

Ismene finally managed to untie the material and released it from his form. With his firm grip on her hair, she was unable to relish in the sight of his muscular body, but he soon squatted before her so that he was on level with her face. She strained against his grip to meet his gaze, but he only tugged harder, forcing her submissiveness. "Close your eyes," he commanded gruffly for he could not bear another glimpse of the green orbs. Their pale luminosity sickened him when he yearned with every fiber of his being to see blue-green. Obediently, she shut her lids, and in another moment, he rewarded her with his teeth on the tender skin of her neck, carelessly tugging and pulling at the area. He left red marks of his brutality in his wake, but his roughness only enticed her. To show her approval, she arched her back against his hard chest and moaned softly. A hand on her shoulder forced her back down upon the bed, and without warning he viciously tore the waist of her dress rather than fooling with the complicated, twisted material. He was impatient in his endless desire, and she gasped in surprise and peered up to acknowledge the action. He was oblivious to her in that moment, and he closed his eyes, picturing the supple breasts barely hidden beneath the transparent material. With the vivid memory, a more fervent wave of need crashed over him, and he savagely bit down on the skin lying over her ribs. It was harder than she liked, and she cried out in pain to alert him of this fact.

Her constant interruptions only served to remind Hector that she was not in fact the woman he needed, and it unleashed his temper. In response, his fingers closed around her neck, pressing her firmly against the bed. He had never been so dominant and forceful with her before, and she writhed on the bed, caught between her feelings of desire and fear. He was simultaneously erotic, exciting, and terrifying, but he allowed her no power to fight him should his needs turn more violent. His lips met the skin of her breast next, and he devoured every inch of it which he could taste, lick, or suck. In his mind, he wished he were cleaning beads of rain from her skin. Her back arched, and she gasped against the increased pressure that brought to her neck. He rolled the bud between his teeth, twisting and pulling at the hardened skin. Ismene groaned loudly and bucked her hips up against his naked chest. In response, he placed more of his weight on her hips to keep them in place, and she was not afforded any way to express her pleasure. It had been clear, however, when he walked in the door that this had nothing to do with her. She was only a tool for his pleasure. His mouth led him up to her collarbones, but he did not release his grip on her slender neck. Beneath his fingers, he could feel her pulse beating wildly. He released his hand only to grasp her chin and roughly twisted her head to the side. She whimpered at the force, and he began kissing at the sensitive area behind her ear. Immediately she relaxed under his touch and ran her hands over the taught muscles lining his broad back.

He returned to a standing position over her, and she frowned that he left her so soon. "Kneel." The brusque command made her bite her lip against a pleased smile, and she swiftly rolled over onto her hands and knees, peering lustfully over her shoulder back at him. His eyes were preoccupied admiring the new curves on display, and he ran the calloused palms of his hands all the way from her shoulders down her spine, dipping in at the arch in her lower back, and out over the smooth skin of her rounded backside. His journey ended at her knees before he retraced his path, all the while picturing his hands on her wet skin, admiring her slender frame through the damp material. She would shudder beneath his touch, gasp at the feeling of his hands on her breasts, and moan for him with heavy desire lining her turquoise eyes. He gritted his teeth and swallowed as the fantasy unfolded within his mind. He wanted her to want him. He would make her want him.

Once more, he wrapped the blonde curls around his hand and roughly yanked her head back. The power he exerted on her caused her to cry out, but her throat was too constricted in the position for the sound to come out as she intended it to. It did not matter for the man bent over her, placing his free hand beside her own, and his muscular chest hovered barely above her bare back. In such a state, his hot breath trickled across the side of her face, and she uncomfortably squirmed against the taught grip on her hair. Hector shifted forward until he was poised behind her, and she immediately ceased her slight struggle at the feeling. His lips curved in a menacing smile as he noted her desire for him. Gradually he pushed forward inch by inch and whispered against her ear, "Is this what you want?" She didn't answer but pushed back subtly against him to show him her desire, forcing more pressure between them. Hector was pleased with her reaction to him, but he would not allow her that satisfaction so easily. "Tell me," he growled low in his throat.

"Yes," she gasped sharply around her bent neck. Using his grip on her hair, in one fluid motion he thrust forcefully into her, and she cried out at the sudden pleasure rolling through her body. He gave her no time to catch her breath and continued with more fervor once his full desire was unleashed at the feeling of being inside her. With each swift movement, her back buckled under his strength, and she groaned her protest against the steady grip he maintained on her hair. The pleasure and pain melted together, burning like liquid fire through her veins, and his mouth was kissing and nibbling at her neck, leaving her breathless. The contrast between his tender lips and firm thrusts had her dizzy and unfocused, or perhaps it was the lack of air traveling in and out of her lungs as a result of her awkward position. "Hector," she begged so softly she doubted he heard her.

All at once he mercifully released his grip, and she collapsed over onto the bed, turning with her face pressed against the sheets. Her breathing was shallow and drawn from their exertions and her inability to breathe properly before. In such a state, she could do no more than grip the sheets until her knuckles were white and weakly vocalize her approval. He straightened up to grip her hips with both his hands, and he carelessly dug his fingers into the tender flesh of her hips. Every movement was swifter and harder as he closed his eyes and pictured her standing there in the rain, his own private siren sent to torture him with her inaccessibility. He gritted his teeth irritably, and in one fluid motion, he rolled over onto the bed, placing her on top of him. With his hands still painfully gripping her hips, he forcefully met her with every thrust, and she dug her nails into the muscles of his chest in a vain attempt to steady herself against the tidal waves of pleasure crashing through her. His brutality spurred her own, and she clawed at the flesh until she drew blood. The pain was nothing compared to his torrent of dark feelings within, and he growled beneath his breath, chasing after that satisfaction. Once more, he closed his eyes and remembered the damp skin, the way she trembled before him, the warmth of her breath falling across his lips, and he was deaf to Ismene's scream of pure bliss. He thought of her full lips pressed against his own and her sweet taste, so tempting and gratifying. He wanted all of her. He wanted to taste the forbidden fruit. All at once, Ismene crashed down upon him a final time, and he held her firmly in place, throwing his head back and groaning as he found his release. She collapsed over him in exhaustion and shuddered in the fleeing moments of their powerful encounter.

Without hesitation, Hector pushed her off of him, and she was too tired to be offended when he sat up and buried his face in his hands. There was no satisfaction to be had with his cheap imitation. Instead the desire settled heavily in his abdomen, unfulfilled and hungry for more. He stood up and grabbed his robes from the floor. She did not even call out to him when he dressed and exited her chamber.

* * *

In the morning, Hector was called to the throne hall, and the events of the previous afternoon and evening all felt like a distant nightmare once he faced the pale light of a new day. He knew they were all too real, but his consciousness forgave him that morning, allowing a calming numbness to course through him while he walked to the hall. It was far from peace, but for the time being, it would pacify his darker nature and keep it from resurfacing. Once he entered the hall, he noted his father, several generals, and a few council members were gathered to undoubtedly discuss some important matter that had arisen. Hector did not think he had ever been more grateful for the distraction from his daily life. Priam granted his son an icy look when he noted Hector's approach. They had not spoken about his taking a mistress, but Hector felt no need to explain himself. He had the needs of a man, and he was not embarrassed by finding a suitable form of release. It was better than chasing after the counselor's daughters. He took his seat to the right of his father and waited expectantly for the news.

"Continue, Adrestus," Priam said since Hector's tardiness had disrupted the conversation. Unfortunately, Hector's current bout of unmastered need made him lax in his duties. It was a reminder that he needed to find some measure of satisfaction if only to regain a sense of control over himself.

"Cilicia has recently suffered at the god's disregard. Their lands fell victim to Poseidon's wrath, and he tore apart the ground beneath their lands. The damage done has left many in the villages of the perimeter without homes or food. Unable to find any direct aid from the cities, they have taken arms and are claiming by force what they can. The uprising began in Thebe despite King Eetion's efforts to quell it, and there is word the disturbance has spread to Lyrnessus and threatens to overtake Chryse," Adrestus explained in a somber tone. The area of Cilicia lay directly southeast of Troad where it faced the Gulf of Adramyttium, and long ago Troy and Thebe had formed an alliance when their kings fought together in battle against a common enemy. Since then there was peace between the two kingdoms, but they had not truly addressed one another in decades. Thus, Troy had no reason to aid Cilician Thebe for the time being. The only reason Adrestus brought up this conflict was the possible threat it could poise to the southern cities and villages of Troad.

Priam bowed his head thoughtfully while pondering the possibilities this tenebrous news presented. At length, he decided, "Uprisings spread as easily as wildfire and consume all which they touch. We must keep our eyes to the south and pray the wind does not blow this conflict north to our lands."

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**Author's Note:** Betcha didn't see that coming! Right? Or have you all completely outsmarted me? hahaha ;) I know Hector was a bit of a dickhead in this chapter, but forgive him, dolls. He hasn't yet figured out how to be gentle, but he will! What is ironic is he doesn't even kiss Ismene... Did you notice? And now Cilician Thebe has been brought into play -which is where Andromache is from... The wheels are turning! (I swear there is a method to my madness) :D

Thank you AmyLNelson and KawaiiHawaiian for the lovely reviews! You guys are like my loyal reviewers :) I look forward to your responses after every chapter! Amy: I know right? I was kinda tired of having them always meet up at Myrina's place, so I was like a change of scene is in order! Now! I'm glad you liked it, and I hope you felt the same way about this chapter even though it was kinda different from the norm! I'm updating a little faster than usual because at this point in the story I pretty much know exactly where I'm going and when I want things to happen sooo hopefully you won't be angry with me if I slow down a bit later haha xoxo Kawaii: You're so very welcome! I solemnly pink promise that I will check out your stories once my finals are up, and though we may not know each other very well, I can assure you I am ultra serious about my pinky promises! Aeneas should show up in a couple of more chapters or maybe less, so get ready because he will bring all sorts of tomfoolery into the picture haha As for Paris, this is probably horrible to admit, but I haven't quite decided how close he will be to the Paris portrayed in the movie. I agree the Paris in the movie annoyed me until I kinda wanted to punch him in the vagina X( But that's still somewhat far away so I can figure it out haha Have a great day, gorgeous!


	17. Into the Dark

Chapter 16  
"Into the Dark"

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Recommended Songs: "I'm on Fire" – Tori Amos & "Be Somebody" – Kings of Leon

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_"These violent delights have violent ends_  
_And in their triumph die, like fire and powder_  
_Which, as they kiss, consume"_

There was not a single speck of white to interrupt the pale blue sky overhead, and the color seamlessly matched the material of Korina's dress. From a few paces away, Myrina watched the young woman beaming at her older brother, and she swore that each time their gazes caught the air between them nearly crackled from the power of their shared emotions. They did not even need to touch one another, and yet observing how they interacted in the immediate wake of marriage seemed so much more private and vulnerable than the scene she had unexpectedly stumbled upon weeks ago. They had no need to hide their true feelings, and the unadulterated, pure love radiated between them with such a force that it caused some pain in Myrina's chest. She was so happy for them, so grateful they found love, so lost watching them… She carried him with her every second of each day since he had left her there on the kitchen floor: the dark passenger of her life who had travelled with her since she was a child. Her dear friend had fallen into the shadows closing in around her, and she felt lost in the midst of that black sea. Blindly, she swung at him, strove to protect herself, but she could never be ready for his next move. He expertly stirred the darkness within her own form, unleashing something she had never known was inside her. When in her bed, she would remember their encounter and writhe restlessly against the shadow of night falling over her. It left her wanting, needing, desiring. Where the image of his face had once brought a smile to her lips, she now bowed her head to hide the way she traced the back of her knuckles over the tender skin, remembering the feeling of their contact. She would never forget the soft warmth of his lips contrasted against the bristle of his beard barely scratching the area surrounding her mouth. The tenderness overshadowed by his roughness physically manifested itself that day, and she felt it deeper than her bones; deep down where the need like a dull blade violently carved out a valley through the middle of her soul. She could not forget. She could not cease remembering. It pained and pleased her simultaneously, and she needed him to fill the void.

That voice in the back of her mind, oddly reminiscent of Isidora's, warned her every now and again, 'Save your soul. Save your soul before you travel too far down this path… Before nothing can be done.' The warning was not heeded or even considered. In so many ways, she had already given into him.

When she closed her eyes, she smelled crisp rain despite the airy summer breeze wafting about her and the sun's rays kissing her skin. In her mind, the dark storm clouds still lingered overhead, and an endless rain beat down upon her. The drops ignited once they met her skin, engulfing her in flames, and he stood patiently in front of her with those chestnut eyes burning into her soul like the fallen embers of a forgotten fire. Through the darkness, they radiated, glowing and shifting and beckoning her. They burned her, but she welcomed the pain. She wanted to hold him, to press herself to him, and to kiss him; she wanted to throw them into the flames and burn to ashes in his arms, ignited by one, single, stolen, harsh kiss. Their curse would be darkness, violent and never ending, and in their consummation they would quell that insatiable need. Once fulfilled and dead, their scattered ashes would mark the line crossed and serve as a warning for all others treading this dangerous path.

"Myrina?"

The young woman abruptly snapped to attention from her thoughts and was met with Korina's gentle features. A soft smile lifted the corners of her mouth, but her brow was knit to show her slight concern. Immediately, Myrina chastised herself for losing focus on this day, but he had a charming way of commanding her attention and directing her mind however he pleased. Still, she would not let her fiery emotions eclipse the joy of this day. She forced a smile on her face and patted the empty space beside her. Without hesitation, Korina filled it and took the other woman's hand in both of hers. "You seem unhappy. What troubles you?"

Myrina maintained her fake smile and was irritated that she was so easy to read. Once again, she reminded herself to draw the curtains over her private thoughts and shield herself away from other's curious gazes. "Nothing." She squeezed Korina's hand, wordlessly encouraging her to believe the lie. "I was so excited for this day that I barely slept last night." No, it was not her brother's wedding day that kept sleep at bay. She had slipped in and out of consciousness without rest, dreaming of those chestnut embers radiating from the shadow drawn over his face. Her sheets were damp from the fire kissing her skin when she had recalled his curls hanging beneath the weight of the rain. She had pictured the drops slipping over his bronze skin, the contours of his developed muscles glistening as they subtly tensed and flexed beneath the surface, the wet material clinging to his broad shoulders, and how his robes were teasing her in the way they hovered over the surface of his skin, only hinting at the angles of his hardened form lying beneath.

"I was the same," Korina confessed with a soft giggle for she was oblivious to Myrina's thoughts. The latter prayed she didn't see the raw desire lying within her eyes. They fell quiet for a moment and simply watched the revelry unfolding around them. Beside her, Korina's unhindered happiness radiated off of her with such warmth that Myrina peered over at the young woman, trying to understand how she had found such satisfaction. How had she avoided this fate and carved out a space for her love where it shone brightly before everyone without fear? Myrina envied her bliss. "The ceremony was beautiful, wasn't it? In all the years I spent dreaming of this day, I never imagined it would be like this."

"How so?"

Korina granted Myrina a secret smile and bent closer as she admitted, "I never knew I could be this happy with my marriage. I have been lucky in love, and I do not regret a single day. I thank the gods each morning that I wake… I thank them that this is not a dream."

"You have been blessed," the young woman acknowledged, and it only made her feel more cursed by comparison, cursed by some unknown force to desire a disgraceful action which would have no satisfaction until she surrendered to it.

"It is a relief," Korina said softly, and her gaze subtly shifted as she watched Aeton speaking with his father.

Looking at her friend who was so in love, Myrina anxiously licked her dry lips and wondered, "How did you know you were in love?" The question had been burning in her mind while admiring their interaction during the course of that day. What did it feel like? She was consumed by her desire for a man she shouldn't want and could never truly have, and yet they walked about as though free from the constant weight she bore.

Korina smiled at the query and drew in a deep breath as she considered how to phrase her answer. A peaceful calm settled across her features amidst her thoughts, and she finally spoke in a soft tone, "At first, it was so simple. I would catch him staring at me whenever I left the house to bring water to the horses, and I began to anticipate it. I would smile at him each time, and I would be sad if he left too soon –if I did not have a chance to see him. Then after time, I could not cease thinking about him." She smiled shyly and squeezed Myrina's hand as she revealed her private thoughts. "He finally spoke to me, and I knew…"

"That is all?" Myrina pried with a slight frown of confusion. How could something so complicated be boiled down into such a simple phrase?

Korina laughed lightly when she saw Myrina's surprise and nodded. "Yes. It was the most natural realization I have ever experienced. It simply occurred to me while speaking with him as if I had known all along… I have always loved him." Immediately, Myrina envied her peace and her certainty. Without any mystery to shroud it from the light, their love had blossomed so easily, so perfectly. Korina's features fell somewhat, and she glanced at Myrina for only a second. Something in her brown eyes spoke of a deeper trouble, and that caught Myrina's attention more than anything. Perhaps this ultimate satisfaction was merely a charade, and in truth, there were problems between them. Despite herself, Myrina hoped to find a crack in their perfect relationship. It would make her feel so much more human and less like some lustful temptress for her improper thoughts in the middle of the night.

"What is it?" the young woman whispered and bent closer to her friend, encouraging Korina to confide in her. The latter shifted uncomfortably at being found out for her unspoken secret, and initially it seemed as though she would pretend Myrina had not spoken. Her form was tense, however, which made Myrina think she yearned to speak her thoughts. The entire change in her demeanor completely captivated Myrina, and she pressed gently, "I have kept your secret. You can confide in me. I would never speak a word to anyone if you ask it of me."

Korina's warm chocolate brown eyes shifted to meet Myrina's gaze, and she took a steadying breath before glancing around to be sure that everyone was far enough away. When she seemed satisfied with their relative privacy, she bent closer to Myrina until her mouth was beside the other woman's ear. "I am with child." At once, Myrina's mouth fell ajar, and she quickly placed a hand over it to hide her reaction; but her blue-green eyes had widened considerably. Korina instantly understood her fear and assured her, "It is Aeton's."

For a period, the woman simply stared at one another while the information permeated its way through Myrina's mind. It was slow in its journey, being weighed down by a thousand questions and new thoughts. At length, she whispered, "How?" Korina's cheeks reddened, and she seemed to misunderstand the query. "I know _how_," Myrina corrected, and she drew her attention away from Korina, uncomfortable with the private topic. In truth, she simply wondered how they found a time and place to carry out the deed. Suddenly she realized how unacceptable it was to ask such a thing. Aeton happened to look over and locked gazes with his little sister. His brow knit when he saw her expression, but she had no answer for him. "Does he know?"

"Not yet," Korina admitted softly. "I was afraid... I needed to know that he wished to marry me because he loves me -not because I am carrying his child."

"You must tell him." Myrina placed her other hand on top of their joined hands and looked Korina intently in the eye. "You must tell him at once."

"I will." She turned her attention down to where their hands rested between them and smiled slightly. "Thank you."

"For?"

"For not judging me." Korina sighed gently and confessed, "I have not been the most proper woman, but you have not betrayed me. You have never reprimanded me when you have every reason to. I am ashamed to fall victim to my own passions."

"You did not do this alone," Myrina countered to comfort her friend, "and now you are married. There is no need to be ashamed." Korina could not possibly realize how much Myrina needed to hear this admission. Though it shocked her because she never expected such an action from her friend or her brother, she did not feel so lewd knowing that others succumbed to their dark desires. In fact, it felt as if some of the weight on her shoulders that acted as her daily punishment and burden lifted somewhat.

At such a response, Korina suddenly embraced her and held her tightly to her chest. "Thank you," she murmured once more into Myrina's hair. "You have become such a dear friend to me."

Myrina smiled to herself and wrapped her arms around the other woman. "I consider you a sister."

Korina released her then and held her arms as she looked at her with tears shimmering in her brown eyes, and Myrina was startled by the abrupt show of emotion. "I do as well. If I can ever repay your kindness, I will. No matter what you may ask of me." She quickly touched her eyes to be sure none of the tears had fallen, and she sniffled lightly while attempting to draw the tears back where they came from before anyone else could notice. "I must return before they think me rude. I am already exhausted from this day."

"Be wary," Myrina cautioned, referring of course to the secret hidden within her abdomen. "You should not exert yourself so."

Korina squeezed Myrina's hand and said, "This is not exertion enough, I assure you." Being older with a sister who was already wed, she had more experience with child birth than Myrina, and she found her innocence on the matter refreshing and endearing. With that, Korina stood and approached her new husband who welcomed her presence with a broad smile.

Myrina separated herself from the group for the remainder of the day, but none seemed too concerned with her distance. All attentions were on the new couple, so that Myrina was granted a certain amount of forgiving negligence, and she was grateful for the opportunity to process all that had occurred that day without the worry of being interrupted. Korina and Aeton would not move in with Myrina and her family simply because there was not enough room in the small home for all of them. They were lucky to find a space within the village so that Aeton could still go out to sea with his brother and father each day, and Myrina was certainly glad now that she could visit her new friend as often as she pleased. In due time she would be an aunt after all. Thinking of Korina's unexpected pregnancy and the obvious act which precipitated it left Myrina in a daze. She found herself so curious and intrigued with a topic she had never truly considered before. As with kissing, she abruptly became aware of its power and purpose beyond the simplistic, naive understanding she maintained as a child. Now a woman, she yearned to explore all the new desires, wants, and needs that accompanied her change in status. There was only one man she pictured helping her with this latest quest. She was grateful for the cover of night when she could lose herself in the memory of him. That night she welcomed it.

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Days melded together in his mind until he was not sure how long it had truly been since he had last seen Myrina. All he could be certain of was that he thought of her each day. She possessed his mind day and night, leaving him in a state of constant unrest. One moment he would long for her, the next he would chastise himself for his desire, and then he would wonder if he had lost her forever. The weight of all these emotions hung from his shoulders and bore down on him with such a force that even standing drained him of his strength. The memory of that day was so sharp in his mind that it was almost painful, but simultaneously it seemed so distant from him. The man who grabbed her, kissed her, and treated her so roughly that she feared him did not feel like Hector. He didn't recognize himself, and he watched the scene play out in his mind from afar, the distant observer, monitoring his own brutality and severity with disgust. He had no idea one mistake could be so costly, but what in particular stood out to him about the entire affair was how large of an effect she had on him. Never before had a woman dominated his thoughts to the point that he could scarcely concentrate on any other subject. As a result, he found himself wondering if he was bothered by Myrina or simply the fact that he thought of her so much. Either way he needed to find an escape, but as was his curse, he could not consider any topic but her.

"Who is she?"

At the question, Hector stiffened slightly, alerting Ismene that her suspicions had been correct. The prince would not directly respond to her which was not unusual, and instead he chose to continue staring out over the balcony, searching the darkness for the answers to some unnamed thought. Ismene could not be certain how long it had been plaguing him considering their lack of discussion as well as his almost incessant brooding mood when around her. In fact, she was not sure she had even seen him truly smile since they first met when he was all charm and bold promises. The man before her bore no resemblance to that lighthearted soul, but she had recognized her foolish misconceptions and his well played charade long ago.

Normally, she would allow him his silence, but on this occasion, she felt more confident and said, "I am your mistress, not your wife. I do not expect for you to be loyal to me." The frank comment garnered her a response when he turned his head, allowing her his profile and acknowledging that she had his attention. It bolstered her resolve, and she pressed carefully, "Does she not return your affections?" His silence and undivided concentration gave her confirmation without his uttering a word, and she smirked at the irony as she asked, "Have you tried speaking with her?"

"I doubt she will see me." Ismene was admittedly surprised that he answered her and so honestly at that. In truth, Hector shocked himself somewhat, but the words left his lips before he could stop them. Initially he did not even realize he had said them aloud.

"How can you be certain until you try?" she pointed out in a gentle tone. It was intriguing for her to finally have a glimpse inside the mind of her keeper when never before had he revealed any part of himself to her. In a way she felt as though she were drawing back a veil to peer at what lay beneath, and she was careful in her approach so that he would not slap her hand away and recede from her yet again.

There was some relief to be found in voicing his consuming thoughts aloud, but he was careful in what he admitted to someone who might as well be a stranger to him. Oddly though her distance from him almost made it easier to speak truthfully when he didn't care how she would react to him or what she would think of him. It was liberating. "I did something," he finally breathed, but his voice was void of any emotions. His neutrality was his final guard.

"The other day…" she trailed off, remembering the tempest he brought down upon her, wild and dangerous. Since then he had returned to his usual character, and it left her wondering what had caused his violent behavior. This woman was the answer. Hector was silent for the time being, and Ismene chose her next words carefully. Despite their sudden solidarity found in a time of need, she would not insult him and risk being met with his wrath once more. In effect she knew she was treading on thin ice, but her curiosity guided her in deeper. "Do you love her?" Hector looked away immediately when she voiced the question, and that to Ismene spoke volumes. 'Such a man,' she thought with a cynical smile. 'Running from his true feelings.' The action made it seem as though the prince would not even consider the romantic notion, but to his mistress, his forced ignorance was an answer enough.

Drawing in a steadying breath, she offered, "Love is not meant to be a battle… There can be no victor." He crossed his arms over his chest as she spoke and leant the weight upon his shoulder where it was pressed against the frame. His brow was knit with interest as if her words unlocked a new understanding for him. Apparently relating the idea in comparison to something concrete that he had a firm grasp on helped him discern her advice. "Though you may fight, blood may be drawn, harsh words exchanged, the only peace lies in surrender."

The crown prince had never surrendered in battle or otherwise. He was taught to fight until his final breath left him, and it was a lesson that guided his actions every day. Priam had raised him to be self-sufficient, fierce, loyal, and brave. To him, the idea of surrendering contradicted all that he stood for, and it would be like tearing apart the very fibers holding him together. Furthermore, he had no idea how he was supposed to surrender. He was certainly not in love. He was simply in a difficult situation where their relationship was in the limbo between friendship and something more. He wanted to push the boundaries and experience every part of the woman he saw the other day, but he was hesitant because the image of the young child still haunted him. Beyond that his behavior toward her was completely deplorable, and he truly wondered if he had ended everything between them. He would not be surprised if she refused to see him, and part of him was ashamed to face her. His pride worried what she would do or say to him since she had an uncanny ability to tear him apart with her words, and that look of fear in those beautiful eyes... It was a red hot knife plunged deep into his chest.

Remembering the woman behind him who was expectantly awaiting some sort of response, he considered her words once more. She spoke honestly and vividly as if it were a topic she were knowledgeable of. In Hector's mind that only meant one thing, and he voiced the thought half way through, "Yet you are with me."

Ismene understood his meaning even if it was out of place. If she spoke of love, she must have been in love. Then why was she the mistress of the Trojan prince? Why should he trust her advice when clearly it had not worked well for herself? The blonde sighed softly while thinking of the man she had lost, and she shifted to lay on her side, propping herself onto her elbow and balancing her cheek in the palm of her hand. It was difficult for her to speak about such a personal subject with a man who only a week earlier had taken out all his frustrations on her and who clearly did not care about her beyond the bedroom. Still, she felt some need to respond, "I feared him... No, I feared what I felt for him. I could not decide, and he did not wait for me." The weight of her honest words hung heavily between them, but he did not acknowledge them as she knew he wouldn't. This level of candidness was too far for him, and he naturally distanced himself from it by refusing the participate fully. He wanted her to give him the remedy that would ease his mind, and the little that he had revealed to her only made her realize the degree to which he must be suffering at the hands of this woman. Never would the guarded, private man she knew even hint at his problems. Feeling some semblance of sympathy, she offered, "Be gentle with her... Perhaps she is afraid of how she feels for you."

His brow twitched as the words circled around his head: 'gentle', 'surrender', 'fear'... They were all terms the prince was not very familiar with, and he detested the thought of being weak for a woman. This conversation brought him no reprieve, and he wondered why he even bothered remaining in her company. Without hesitation, he donned his robes and exited the room. Ismene watched him walk away with such resolve, attention, and determination lining his form. He appeared as though he were walking into battle, but she prayed he had taken her advice -at least for the the woman's sake. In his wake, she smiled to herself and silently admitted she would be curious to meet a woman that could catch his eye and cause him so many sleepless nights. Ismene imagined her to be an Amazon queen, tall, dark, and beautiful with an ability to wield a sword. She grinned at her own imagination while combing out her long blonde locks, but truly it was the only woman she thought capable of conquering this prince.

Hector strode swiftly through the palace corridors and toward his quarters. The conversation and mood of the night left him restless, and his muscles coiled and relaxed time and time again, urging him to find some release for their pent up energy. There was no chance that he would turn around and reach for Ismene -not after their intimate conversation. It left him feeling exposed and accessible, and that only encouraged his agitated mood. Likewise at this hour of night, there was no one available for him to spar with. The prince grumbled in aggravation under his breath and settled for a walk about the palace to ease his mind. As he nervously paced the corridors, his mind drifted away to consider the nature of his unrest. That woman had bewitched him, and it was driving him mad. He could not find the remedy to her poison, and her venom seeped deep beneath his skin, intoxicating him with his want for her. The fire in his veins never left him, and it was pain and pleasure all at once. The image of her standing in the rain haunted him, and each time he recalled their kiss, he could taste her sweetness on his lips. She was so tempting to him. She was his siren, his forbidden fruit, his unfulfilled desire.

An innocent giggle disrupted him from his thoughts, cutting through the thick haze hanging about his head. Hector paused mid-stride and listened intently. The sound rang out again, and he tilted his head while taking in his surroundings. His sisters' quarters were down another corridor, and he could not think of any reason why a giggling woman would be in this area of the palace at this time of night. He stepped forward without making a sound and listened for it again. When it met his ears next, he snapped his head and recognized very slowly the source of the noise: Paris' chambers. Initially, his mind attempted to think up any excuse for why a woman would be in Paris' room this late since the obvious thought actually seemed ridiculous to him. 'How old is he?' he wondered and briefly did the math in his head to be sure he was not judging his brother too quickly. However, he still felt that Paris was too young to have a woman in his room. Could they be...? Was it not a little over a week ago that he was asking to borrow Ismene? Hector's brow furrowed, and he cautiously placed his ear against the wooden door, straining to better understand what precisely was happening within the confines of his room. Though he could not make out their muffled words, he could hear the conversation: the soft tone, lowered voice, giggle, chuckle, silence. Hector pressed somewhat harder with his ear and briefly considered throwing open the door if only to satisfy his growing curiosity. Ultimately, he decided that was a poor plan and listened intently. Then he heard a woman's deep moan, and he snapped his head away from the door, granting it a frown of disbelief. Was Paris actually satisfying a woman?

The initial shock shifted into a mild sense of praise, and he smirked. He supposed it would have to come one day that Paris would pry his way between a woman's legs, but Hector scratched his beard thoughtfully as he mused that he didn't expect the day to come quite so soon. Then it abruptly occurred to him: his younger brother was in his room pleasuring a woman, and Hector, the crown prince of Troy, fierce soldier, and loyal son, was roaming the halls in the middle of the night, consumed by his thoughts of an innocent young girl he had simply kissed. He groaned low in his throat and gritted his teeth against how that recognition stabbed at his pride. What was he doing? He should be with a woman, not Paris. Since when did he allow a woman to dominate his thoughts? His blood nearly boiled beneath the skin, and he set off down the corridor lest he catch another sound from his brother's room. It would only make him more aware of how ludicrous his current behavior was. What did Paris have that Hector did not? Why would a woman choose his company over Hector's? Once the prince entered his quarters, he paced restlessly up and down the space as he thought over the matter. Paris was handsome and had a certain charm, but he was so weak, immature, passionate, and gentle.

Hector stopped where he stood immediately, and the thought resonated in his mind. It sobered him, and he sat on the edge of his bed, stunned by his abrupt realization. Had Ismene not advised him to be more gentle in his approach? Now Paris was the one wooing women while Hector was left alone in his bed. That was not the order of things, and it crawled beneath his skin, itching at his pride. This young woman was single handedly destroying his confidence and resolve and leaving him unsure of all the things he had initially been so certain of. The compounding of all these various emotions darkened his features, and he numbly rubbed a hand over his face as if to push the thoughts away before they overcame him.

"She is only a woman," he grumbled to himself, and the reminder grounded him. He would not allow a woman to consume his thoughts and cause him to lose any sleep. There was only one way he would have any peace, and he would do what was necessary to rid himself of this childish infatuation. Thus, the following afternoon, he retrieved his horse from the palace stable and rode out of the gates of Troy and toward the village. He knew precisely what he would do.

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**Author's Note**: The quote in the beginning is from Shakespeare of course! For the record, I didn't realize until after I posted the last chapter that the councilman's name Adrestus was incredibly close to Adrastus from Percote (Merops' son). Hopefully that didn't confuse anyone… Obviously they are not the same person haha I just forgot I had used a similar name. Oh well. My bad, guys. My bad. Soooo… it's my final week of classes, and then I have finals. I'm a bit swamped, needless to say, and may or may not update for awhile :( I have a big chunk of the next chapter written, so I'll try to take a little time when I have some to work on it (maybe this weekend). This is such a critical point in the story though that I don't want to cheapen it and rush it, ya know? The only reason I got this one written was my body woke me up at 3:45 AM and was like 'sleep is for the weak!' 4 cups of coffee later, and I was nearing cardiac arrest… but I risked it all for you guys ;) Flattered? You should be! haha

Thank you to AmyLNelson, Avatar2009, and KawaiiHawaiian for the super amazing reviews! Amy: Get out of my head! Hahaha You always get just what I'm going for :D I knew this chapter was going to be a little bit intense, but I was like… how else could their relationship shift? I felt like there had to be some sort of electrifying, shocking, unexpected event that just makes everything spiral out of control. But you totally got it that I wanted his relationship with Ismene to contrast greatly to how he's going to have to act with Myrina. Hector's also a man so he is kinda prone to thinking more with his penis than his head haha Then again Myrina has some raging hormones of her own… Should I start singing Teenage Dream? ;P I will tell you that although I've brought up Thebe, Andromache won't come into play for awhile, so rest easy, my dear! Thank you for the review, and I hope you liked this chapter :D Avatar: Way to call me on it haha ;)… I honestly was hesitating at first about his encounter with his mistress. I knew it was sort of rough and risky in a way to reveal that side of Hector, but I've said before that I want this story to be as much the tale about Hector's evolution into the man we all love as it is a love story. So I felt like in so many ways that scene with Ismene showed so much about his character at this point: he treats his relationships with women in particular almost like a battle where he has to be dominant/victorious; he has been trained to be a fighter so being gentle isn't readily in his nature; he's so upset over what happened with Myrina that he really just isn't in his right mind; he was desperate, confused, uncertain –all sorts of emotions that he has never really had to deal with. I mean over all I didn't want it be a pretty scene. I wanted to make you a little bit uncomfortable, and by comparison, reading his further interactions with Myrina will mean that much more I hope (fingers crossed haha). Thanks for the feedback! I really appreciate getting your opinions :) Take care, gorgeous! xoxo Kawaii: Hey girl! Clearly Myrina caught on quickly haha The fire burns! Hector will figure out how to be gentle in time because he has to if he wants to get his woman! As for Andromache, well... That's not something I have completely decided yet haha... but I have a plan in mind :D I'm working on fitting Aeneas into the next chapter soooo get excited haha I'm really glad you liked the last chapter, and hopefully you felt the same about this one! How is the writing coming along? :)


	18. Leave a Mark

Chapter 17  
"Leave a Mark"

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Recommended Songs: "I Want You" – Kings of Leon & "Got You (Where I Want You)" – The Flys

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It felt like an eternity since she had seen him, and the feelings reverberated through her as though echoing off the walls of her body. They grew farther and farther away as time passed, but every now and again they would reawaken with new vigor. Perhaps with time she would grow numb to them, and they would no longer torture her with their abrupt arrival and departure, tearing through her body and leaving her burning in their wake. Her awareness of them incessantly lingered in the back of her consciousness, and she sighed beneath the constant weight of his memory. She carried it with her daily, even now as she pulled at the sheets of her bed and adjusted them upon the empty space. Staring at it, she could only think of all the sleepless nights spent within its confines. The remembrance caused her to rub her tired eyes and stifle a yawn. The shell necklace lay hidden beneath the padding of her bed, untouched in days since Myrina resisted the urge to wear it. Now on some level it symbolized his possession of her thoughts, and donning it was like displaying that she was his. It would be a lie for she belonged to no one beyond herself. Thus, she tucked the sheets over it, covering it from her line of sight. If she did not look upon it, then maybe she would cease thinking about it. The same could not be said of the giver. Time away from him only made her yearn for him deeper, and occasionally she would draw forth every memory of him to assess and consider as if the flimsy images could satisfy her craving.

The young woman's gaze floated about the room; but each minimal piece of furniture was in place, their surfaces spotless, and the bedding was drawn without the slightest crease in the sheets. What was left for her to do? Without anything to preoccupy her hands or thoughts, surely he would take over once more. Idly, she ran her hand across the wooden bedside table to be sure there was not a speck of dust tainting it. As her fingers caressed the outer edge, there was a painful prick, and Myrina hissed under her breath while she peered at the injury. It would be her luck to somehow get a splinter lodged in her finger, and she squinted at it, trying to assess the best way to be rid of it. To her simultaneous relief and annoyance, Isidora's voice rang out from outside the home, "Myrina!" No doubt the old woman needed help attending to some chore, and on this occasion, Myrina hurried to her aid if only to keep herself from thinking about him. While walking out of her room and turning down the hallway, she continued working at the splinter, squeezing the flesh around it in an attempt to push it out, but it was stubborn and seemed to nestle itself deeper down under her skin. In fact, she was not entirely sure she could even see it any longer, but it still pained her so she knew it had not slipped out so easily. She decided to have Alkaios look at it when he returned home if it still was present since Isidora's sight was too poor to be of any help, and she straightened up and lifted her chin to monitor her path. What she was met with, however, caused her to stop dead in her tracks, and she stared at the image as if waiting for it to fade away like a mirage; but it was real. He was real.

The moment she saw him standing at the end of the hallway she could read his intent in his dark eyes and how they bore straight through her. The mere sight of him temporarily took her breath away when she was finally faced with what she had been longing for. It was terrifying and exciting all at once, and her heart beat anxiously in her chest while she waited for him to speak and reveal his purpose to her. He took a step toward her and paused as though to gauge her reaction, but she didn't move. Her eyes no doubt betrayed the dark desire which was awaking slowly within her, stirred by his presence. Another step, and she swallowed against her heart where it had taken refuge in her throat. He was slow and deliberate in his approach so that with every passing second she had an opportunity to turn away, to flee, or to ask him to stop. She did none of those things but watched him draw closer and closer. She was nearly trembling before him when he stood only a pace in front of her. Her eyes were on his face the entire time as his were on hers, and her breathing was shaky from the proximity though they had been far closer many times before; but not like this. He stopped, however, and she waited expectantly for him to cross the short distance between them and commit to the action they both knew was coming. His chestnut eyes burned beneath his thick curls, and their heat cut straight into her soul, reminding her of the valley, the emptiness, the need. There he was to make her whole again. It sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine and made her impatient for him until she was practically ready to step forward herself and close the space between them. Hector read the need in her eyes and was inches from her without warning.

She sucked in a short breath at the abruptness when he had been slow before, but he moved so fluidly and flawlessly like a predator hovering inches away from her. She peered up at him to see what he would do next, but as before he didn't move for a period and simply stared down at her, pinning her in place with his gaze. Then he moved forward again, and she stepped back because he had no more room to advance. She realized only too late that her back was met with the cold wall, and he had cornered her without lifting a finger or speaking a word. In a nervous twitch, her tongue darted out to wet her dry lips, and his eyes caught the slight flicker of movement. His face didn't express his reaction, but he stepped forward further until her back was fully pressed against the wall in her attempt to maintain some amount of space between them. No matter how much she wanted it, she was still timid with the new behavior. Their bodies were less than an inch apart, and she held her breath while she tried to reconcile her feelings of uncertainty. She wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything, but now that she was faced with him, her courage was failing her. He was so powerful in front of her, and she struggled to gather the strength to face him on this unfamiliar, unsteady ground. Everything else drifted into the periphery, and it was only the two of them in the hallway where they lingered at a stand off. Then he bent his face slowly toward her own, and her heart abruptly stopped when she acknowledged his movement. She felt his warm breath falling across her lips, but he paused without touching her. He tilted his head instead and moved further down past her cheek. The bristle of his beard barely skimmed her face, and she forcefully released the pent up breath all at once. The sliver of contact was more intense than his touch, and she arched her neck slightly when she felt his breath trailing over the tender skin beneath her jaw.

When she inhaled next, she was granted with his musky scent, and she breathed in once more if only to savor it. Though they had been close before, she had never noticed his scent yet it was so familiar to her, and she reveled in all the ways she recognized him without him even touching her or speaking to her. His body shifted ever so slightly, causing her own to move with him as if she could feel the air shifting between them. He was so close to her and yet so far away, and she struggled between reaching for him and standing her ground. She wanted him so badly, but simultaneously she feared her own desire. In another moment, his face hovered above her own once more, and she started slightly when she felt his fingertips on her elbows, barely touching her skin in their ascent up her arm. It had been so unexpected, and every breath between them was magnified tenfold until his simple presence made her weak in the knees. She was suddenly grateful for the support of the wall behind her, or she feared what would have happened when his fingers touched her. They expertly drew away the remnants of her fragile strength and left her shivering in their wake. The only emotion she could read on his face was the one she knew was mirrored in her own.

He slightly bent forward, and the grain of his beard grazed her forehead. She sighed gently and was granted access to his neck when he moved even closer. Another second and she would feel him pressed against her, but he taunted her in how he hovered barely in front of her. She was growing tired of his patience, and her body reacted since her mind had long turned to mush under his touch. With her upper back pressed against the wall, her hips moved forward through the narrow gap and skimmed his own. He stiffened for a moment at the unanticipated gesture, but in response to her silent request, he conceded and soon had her wedged between the wall and his own form. She exhaled in pleasure at the contact, but she was hesitant to lift her chin and face him. He was making her ask for it, manipulating the desire within her, forcing her to confess without a word that she wanted it. She wanted him. Hesitantly, she peered up through her eyelashes at him, and his intense gaze was waiting for her. It coaxed her to be braver. She rose to the challenge though she was vaguely aware she was trembling, and her nose brushed his when she lifted her chin and looked up at him. Once more his warm breath fell across her skin, and it only made her more aware of how close his mouth was to her own. Her eyes searched his for some sign of what he would do next, but he wouldn't reveal a thing.

Gently, he nodded his head, allowing his nose to graze against her skin, and she exhaled shakily against the tender gesture which was so unexpected from the soldier standing before her. Suddenly, he seemed much more human, and it gave her enough strength to face him. She moved forward slightly, but he turned his head, almost taunting her in his denial. His cheek caressed her, and his fingers were on her arms yet again, trailing up and down them. The roughness of the calluses on his hands sent shivers across her skin, and her body reacted without her consent. Her hips moved against his once more when her back arched slightly, but with their bodies closer, it was a more intimate action. She heard him breathe heavily through his nostrils, and she was pleased that she was having a similar effect on him. His mouth hovered near her ear and fell lower to trace the length of her neck, and she lifted her chin to grant him full access to her. His lips never met her skin, but she closed her eyes and focused on his breath. Spurred by his actions, she bent her arms and dragged her nails lightly down from his shoulders toward his elbows. She felt him shudder slightly against her, and her mouth moved toward his neck to mimic his actions and coax away the chills she had caused without touching his bronze skin.

Spurred by her increased confidence, his chest moved against her, brushing across her breasts with barely a movement, and she swallowed heavily while her cheeks flushed under the heat he was stirring within her abdomen. It spread like wildfire through her veins until it reached her every limb and doused them in the fiery desire. He hadn't even kissed her and had hardly touched her, but it was the most erotic encounter she had ever experienced. When his nose brushed hers again, she stared up into his eyes and edged closer toward him, yearning for something more than his teasing. He hadn't expected her to make the first move, but he inched forward ever so slightly to encourage it; but he wouldn't close the space, and he waited anxiously to see if she had the courage to do it. Despite their closeness, their eyes were open and staring into each other's as if they could share a silent conversation. Myrina's heart was nearly beating out of her chest, but she wanted it so badly. She longed for the contact with every piece of her being, but she was afraid to commit to it. In that moment, she was poised beside him on the boundary with the line marked out before them, and he was waiting for her to decide. Once crossed, they could never again return to these lands laced with the memories of their childhood friendship, but the open territory in front of her held such promise, making her wish to explore every corner of it. At the same time, she could not be sure what threats lay hidden within its unknown depths. It was alluring and terrifying.

She hesitated briefly before brushing her lips across his. She was timid, and it was barely even a hint. It was all that Hector needed, and he followed her when she moved her head back to rest against the wall. He wouldn't let her away so easily, and he pressed his lips against hers without fear now that he had her permission. It felt like her heart exploded within her chest, a burst of beautiful red against the black of her eyelids, and she couldn't breathe. She stiffened, unsure what to do, but he was gentle with her this time. His lips were soft and warm, and they moved slowly, coaxing her without a word. She felt clumsy and inexperienced as she wondered how to properly maneuver her lips, but Hector was patient as his mouth guided hers, showing her how to move with him. They found some rhythm together, and she became sensitive to his various pressures and what they signaled for her response. All her attention was drawn to her lips, and as she grew more and more accustomed to the feeling, it gave her such a sense of pleasure that she felt it even in the tips of her fingernails. It was intimate and expressive in a way that their conversations never had been. He was more communicative with his body and touch than his words, and in that moment, she relaxed against him as if he were silently reassuring her that he wouldn't hurt her. The roughness of his beard scratched her skin, but it only made her more aware of how soft his lips were. She pressed forward from the wall to kiss him with more force, and he tangled one hand within her curls, cradling her neck and holding her firmly to him for better leverage. His thumb grazed her jaw, but it was not to force her mouth open. He merely caressed the soft skin, and his gentleness captured her completely.

She lifted her hands from her sides and touched the skin of his arms where it was stretched over the developed muscles. She remembered how they looked beneath the glistening rain, and her fingers carefully traced out the contours where the drops would have slipped down until she reached his elbows and paused. Then Hector pulled away slightly, and her eyes flickered open, curious to see why he left her. He didn't speak a word, and his gaze darted across her face, taking his time to examine every feature from this angle before settling on her eyes once more. She smiled shyly up at him, and the edges of his mouth hiccuped in response. His eyes warmed in a smile, and he kissed her once on the lips and once on the corner of her mouth. He trailed out a path along her jaw, and she relaxed under his touch. The hand on her neck coaxed her to turn her head and grant him better access to her. She obeyed without protest and closed her eyes when his lips dipped beneath her jaw to a more sensitive area. She quivered slightly beneath him, but it was pure pleasure gently rolling through her and encouraging her to be braver with him. Her hands fell from his elbows to grip his waist and pull him closer to her. She enjoyed the feeling of his weight against her, and he returned his lips to hers, letting more pressure fall between them as he shifted forward. His hips pushed into her, rotating against her, and she elicited the softest moan against his mouth.

Immediately, Hector stiffened to a halt and pulled away, and her lips suddenly felt cold and bare without his caressing them. She was vaguely aware how she could feel her heart's pulse beneath the swollen skin, and every beat was taunting her, begging her for more. Likewise, she realized as an after thought that his body was no longer pressed against her, and he stood a step away from her. She searched his eyes for some sign as to why he left her, but as before, he didn't say a word. Myrina forgot her embarrassment then in the wake of her need, and she lifted herself onto the balls of her feet and nearly crashed into him lips first. Hector granted her one hand to cradle her cheek while the other grabbed her hip to steady her against him, and this time she led the pace of their kisses, growing more fervent and desperate with every passing second. He tried to slow her, but she wouldn't allow it.

A moment later, he stopped fighting her and pushed her up to the wall, pressing more of his weight against her. The force knocked the wind out of her, but his kisses and touch had long left her breathless. She welcomed the pressure that had been missing from her, and her arms wrapped around his neck to draw him even closer. Their kisses were suddenly clumsy and laced with a need for more. He caught her bottom lip between his teeth and sucked gently on the swollen flesh while her body shifted restlessly under his, spurred by her want and passion to feed that insatiable craving. When his lips kissed hers again, she eagerly opened her mouth and felt his tongue rubbing against her own, exploring the space he had been forbidden from over a week ago. That was a distant, pathetic encounter compared to this kiss which was lined with passion, desire, and such a fiery heat. His hand fell from her hip to reach around and firmly grip her backside, forcing her further up the wall and wedging her in place with his hips so that he wouldn't have to bend so low to reach her. His lips fervently fell across her neck while his grip on her butt tightened, lifting her off the ground to meet him, and she arched her back against him, tilted her head back as her eyes closed, and moaned deep in her throat.

His breathing had increased, and she noticed it only when he forced himself away once more. She wanted to follow him, but his hands were on her shoulders, keeping her in place against the wall and away from him. "Stop," he said gruffly near a growl, and his eyes were desperate as they bore down at her. The confusion drifted into the periphery of her mind since he literally pushed her away. Suddenly, Myrina felt hurt like she had been stabbed in the chest and looked away from him when she felt a pricking at her eyes. He had denied her in a moment when she felt so vulnerable and connected to him, but now he left her cold and exposed. She swiftly knocked his hands from her shoulders to escape before he saw the tears. She brushed roughly past him, but he caught her arm and forced her to face him. "You cannot tempt me like that," Hector explained in a softer tone. "I can scarcely control myself with you." His words didn't matter to her by that point.

"Let me go," she snapped angrily and pulled against him. Hector was too strong for her to break his grip, but she didn't give up.

He ignored her struggle for he easily saw that he had upset her. "I care for you too much to…" His sentence trailed off since he couldn't bring himself to voice what he so badly wanted to do to her –the numerous, in depth, horribly improper things he wanted to do to her. The things that kept him up at night and caused him to call on his mistress far too often since Myrina had awakened the unfulfilled, insatiable need within him. He had never longed for anyone as her, and he genuinely worried it might overcome him as it had barely a week ago.

Myrina was hurt, and the source of her pain was literally forcing her to remain beside him. Perhaps he wished to twist the knife now or to throw salt on her wounds. She finally looked at him, and his brow furrowed deeply when he saw the wet lines trailing down her cheeks. The sight robbed him of the strength to utter a single word. "I never want you to touch me again," she warned in a low tone when he didn't speak, and her eyes narrowed as they peered viciously up at him, wishing she could cut him to pieces with her gaze.

He wanted to release her as she requested. He had never wanted to hurt her, and his grip began to loosen slightly. Then he suddenly changed his mind and pushed her back against the wall, holding her there with his hands on both her arms. Naturally, she writhed against him, but he bent closer to her, lowering his head against hers as he said, "Do not run from me this time." Despite its delivery, it was not a command. The tone of his voice was pleading, and it struck something within her since she had never heard that from him before. Reluctantly, she ceased struggling, but she was far too embarrassed to look at him and once more reveal the tears in her eyes. Hector gathered his resolve and forced himself to admit, "I don't want to hurt you." The sincerity of his words disarmed her when she was prepared for battle between them, and she cautiously lifted her chin to peer up at him.

Faced with those haunting eyes and the wet trails lining her face, he shifted uncomfortably in front of her and ducked his head to avoid her gaze, looking down at the space between them. This was not the sort of situation he was prepared for, and though he was holding her in place, he had no idea what to do with her. He merely wanted to keep her with him, but she was waiting for him to speak and explain himself. At length, he painfully swallowed his pride and continued, "You cannot push me too far... I don't want to hurt you." They were the only things he could say at that time because he couldn't bring himself to confess the extent of his desire for her and how he feared what he was capable of doing to her. Hearing her moan for him had lit him on fire, and he had wanted to lift her dress and make her his own in the middle of the hallway, completely oblivious to the consequences of such a brash action. It had taken every piece of strength and will power he possessed to tear himself away from her.

His attention was still downcast, and he stiffened when he felt a hand on his cheek. He lifted his gaze to see the tears were no longer lining her beautiful eyes, and she took his face between her hands and smiled gently. It was the last thing he expected in that moment, and he smiled lopsidedly in return. Without hesitation, she stepped forward then and raised herself onto the balls of her feet so she could reach him and place a soft kiss on his lips. It was so tender and gentle that he instantly relaxed at the contact, and this time, she was the one reassuring him that she was not angry with him. With that, she stepped away and released his face. The moment passed as quickly as it had come, and she wrung her hands as she tried to understand how to interact with him now that their relationship had shifted. He seemed equally uncertain and sheepishly scratched the back of his head, scrounging for an appropriate thing to say to her.

In a vain attempt to fill the void in conversation, Myrina commented, "I was on my way to help Isidora. She called for me."

"To warn you I was here," Hector said, and he smirked while remembering the servant's face when he rode up. Her simultaneous irritation with him and powerlessness to do anything about it amused the prince.

"She has been warning me about you for years," she said softly and glanced at him to gauge his reaction.

"Rightfully so," he pointed out with his smirk morphing into a wolfish grin while thinking of his success moments earlier. Finally he was able to relax somewhat since his desire had been granted some satisfaction. It was not nearly quelled, but for now, it was enough. Myrina blushed slightly, and it only made him grin wider. He couldn't remember the last time he had made her blush, and he loved the way her cheeks warmed beneath the tan skin for him.

"I'm grateful she did not catch us," the young woman confessed under her breath. She could not believe they had done that in the middle of the hallway where Isidora or any intruding neighbor could catch them, but she had been too caught up in his spell to consider those possibilities. Honestly she did not regret it, and part of her wished she could grab him and kiss him again. She smiled to herself as she realized she loved kissing. Her gaze flickered over to Hector who was watching her with an amused grin displayed across his handsome features, and she silently noted that she could kiss him for hours without pause. It was so much more than she thought it could be, and something told her it would only get better with practice. She absentmindedly adjusted the waist of her dress where it had shifted during their encounter, but she abruptly hissed when the fabric somehow caught on the very edge of the splinter. She had completely forgotten it, but such things had a way of making their presence know at the most inopportune moments. She lifted the finger up into her line of sight, straining to see the irritating menace, but the lighting was too dim in the hallway.

"What is it?"

"I have a splinter," she murmured under her breath for her attention was too centered on the injury, straining to find the small sliver of wood once more.

"Let me see," he suggested and grabbed her hand to look at it.

"I just saw it," she protested in annoyance when he pulled her hand away.

He held her hand firmly within his own and squinted his eyes to peer at her finger. "How? It is too dark here." With that he guided her into the kitchen and over to the window where the sunshine lit up the small space. He rolled her finger slightly between his forefinger and thumb to give himself a better angle.

The way he swooped in and dominated the situation agitated Myrina, and she stood beside him, watching him fret over the insignificant injury. "It is merely a splinter," she commented hotly. "I can remove it myself." Hector ignored her without a second thought and began squeezing the flesh around it like she had earlier that day. He was much stronger, however, and she cried out swiftly at the pressure and pulled roughly against him in an attempt to regain her hand. "I already tried that!" she snapped angrily.

Finally Hector lifted his head enough to glare at her continued protests, and he growled out, "Stay still. I cannot do this with you constantly moving around."

"Then let me," she countered immediately. Without answering, he ducked his head and continued his task, and Myrina made a point to sigh heavily, alerting him of her disapproval though it was impossible for him to not have noticed earlier. Once more he began applying pressure to the flesh, and she gritted her teeth for as long as she could before she finally cried out, "That hurts!"

"It will be over in a moment," he said, but Myrina doubted his honesty since his furrowed brow hinted that there were no improvements. He stopped once more and brought the finger closer to his face for a better look.

Biting back her anger as best she could, she calmly asked, "Will you let me try?"

"I almost have it," he said stubbornly to dismiss her. In the battle between Hector and the splinter, the prince had no intention of surrendering first.

"Yes, but you may break my finger in the process."

Hector turned to consider her with an icy gaze in response to her sarcastic comment. "Must you fight me on everything?" Evidently even three years apart and the very recent shift in their relationship couldn't change their propensity to argue over any possible topic.

"Must you always be so stubborn?" she rejoined and tilted her head back to fearlessly match his glare.

"I am trying to help you."

"You are hurting me."

He ignored her once more and turned his attention back to her finger. "It is too deep," he decided, and his free hand retrieved his dagger from his waist.

Myrina's eyes widened in horror at the sight, and she pulled desperately away from him. "What are you doing? It is a only splinter! Let go of me!" He brought the sharp edge closer to her finger which only caused her to fight him more. "Hector, please don't! Please, please don't!"

His head snapped in her direction, and he warned in a calm though low voice, "I _will_ hurt you if you don't stop moving." The threat was enough to make her still though her mouth was pressed in a thin line, and her eyes were wide in her anxiety. Once more he brought the blade up to her finger, and she chewed nervously on her bottom lip, waiting for the inevitable pain to take hold of her. His brow knit under his concentration, and the tip barely pierced her skin with the slightest prick. It bled somewhat, but he sheathed his dagger once more, applied careful pressure to the flesh, and wiped her finger clean of the drop of blood to be sure the splinter had been forced out. Finally, he dropped her hand and said, "It's gone." His voiced was laced with irritation as though it had been a chore to extract the splinter for her, but peering up into his eyes, she saw the partial shimmer of pride and victory lying within their chestnut depths.

She likely would have thanked him had she not seen that. As it was she took her time examining her finger, and he waited expectantly for her to say something and complete his sense of self-satisfaction. Myrina was not impressed and had no intention of giving him that gratification. Rather, she haughtily asked, "Was that necessary?"

Hector crossed his arms over his chest and peered down at her incredulously. "Yes. Would you have preferred that I left it?" Realizing he was pointing out the obvious flaw in her logic, she turned her head away and chose not to answer. Within a second, his arm was around her waist, and he was holding her hand out and pulling her toward the kitchen table.

She struggled uncertainly against him and asked, "What are you doing now?"

"You seem disappointed," he answered and moved her hand toward the wooden table. "If you would like a splinter, I can give you another." The tone of his voice hinted at his jesting, and she began laughing and writhing within his grip. He held onto her tighter in response and lifted her off the ground completely which caused her to kick her legs where they hovered over the floor, but she was still laughing the entire time to his pleasure. "Do you not want another splinter?" he asked innocently.

"No, no," she begged through her laughter. "Put me down."

He chuckled under his breath and held her hand over the table as he wondered, "Are you certain?"

"Yes!"

Reluctantly he lowered her back down until her feet met the floor and murmured near her ear, "You are impossible to please."

Myrina peered up over her shoulder at him in a way that was so reminiscent of their encounter in the rain. Unlike then, however, her eyes flashed with some unspoken desire that made Hector unwilling to release his grip around her waist. "I am not," she said softly, and her lowered, velvety voice enticed him immediately. Was she teasing him? He wouldn't allow such a thing. He lowered his head and found her lips, kissing her deeply and warning her of how much she tempted him. If she understood the threat looming over her, she gave no indication. Rather she wrapped an arm around his head, tangling her fingers in the dark curls, and she pulled him even closer to her. Hector released the grip on her waist, and she untangled herself to face him and kiss him with more force. All at once, he grabbed her hips and placed her on the kitchen table where he could reach her better. Her legs parted to draw him up to the edge of the table and against her. The length of her dress gathered above her knees to allow him access, but she didn't care in that moment how her legs were exposed. Of course he noticed and dropped his hands to painstakingly caress them from her ankle all the way up to her knee. His thumbs idly rubbed at the skin located there, and Myrina smiled against his lips, pulling away slightly to ask, "Do you remember?"

He was still attempting to capture her lips and chased after them when she moved. At the question, however, he paused and rejoined, "What?" Her hand fell on top of his where it was placed on her knee, and she smiled wider at him, silently encouraging him to remember. Honestly, he did not know what she was referring to and couldn't have cared less in that moment when he had were on the table with her legs spread for him, but he leaned back and removed his hand to humor her. Situated across the boney knee cap was an old scar, and he tilted his head with a smirk. "The horse," he recalled, thinking of the time they had met so many years ago.

"And this," Myrina continued and showed him the edge of her finger where a small white scar was located. He shook his head to show he didn't remember it, so she explained, "The knife... in the kitchen. When you came to see me before you left for Greece."

"You always have been clumsy," he teased with a grin.

"And now this," she continued, lifting her finger with the small incision from his blade. "You have always left your mark on me." The thought actually hadn't even occurred to her until she voiced it aloud, but it was true. Even without the necklace, he had marked her over the years during their various encounters, but she peered at him curiously. "But I have not changed you." What evidence was there of her on him?

Hector's brow creased, and all the jesting present before seemed to flee from the space. He could not be sure how she expected him to respond or how she felt about the statement herself. He smirked ironically then and pointed out, "You have." The evidence was right before her: he was standing between her spread legs with her dress gathered up in front of him, but he was only speaking with her. A mere week ago he wouldn't have been able to control himself, but he had realized what he needed to do if he wanted to have her. His brother and Ismene had unintentionally made that very clear to him. Though he had doubted his ability to actually restrain himself, he had forced himself to recognize her narrow form, fragile features, and trusting eyes, and it had dawned on him: he didn't want to hurt her. He had never wanted to hurt her, and it kept him grounded enough. Of course hearing her moan had nearly shattered his resolve, and thinking about it then, it still made his abdomen tighten in desire. Even with his newly found determination, he had to be careful with her. As always, she had a way of bringing out the worst in him.

He noticed something then while his gaze dropped beneath the weight of his thoughts, and his fingers touched her bare collarbones where normally the shell necklace hung since he had brought it back from Greece. Though he didn't speak a word, she knew he was inquiring as to its whereabouts. Oddly she felt embarrassed that he had caught her without it on as though it were a betrayal to him, but he did not seem upset, merely curious. "I was cleaning. I did not want to damage it," she lied, and her gaze wavered when his penetrating eyes cosidered her.

Rather than calling her bluff, he stepped away and admitted, "I must go." Immediately, Myrina's smile fell when she was faced with his departure. They had shared something that afternoon, and she was reluctant to release him so easily. In her mind, she saw herself drawing him to her, kissing him, and wordlessly convincing him to stay with her, but she was not so bold -at least not yet. Consequently, she slipped off the table and returned to her usual height beneath him which caused her to tilt her head back when she wanted to look at him.

"I am glad you came," she admitted earnestly, but their was a hint of reluctance to her voice.

Hector chuckled softly and promised, "I will visit you again." There was an edge to his voice that Myrina wasn't experienced enough to discern properly, but she knew he had some alternate meaning even if she could not be sure what it was. He had an uncanny ability to say so much with only a few words, and in that moment, he made her feel as though she were his personal joke: a clumsy, imperfect, inadequate lover on exhibition for his viewing pleasure. Evidently her desire for him along with her sudden shyness in his presence amused him, and she dropped her gaze in mild embarrassment as she recognized this fact. He cupped her chin, however, and forced her to look at him again. Then he bent down and kissed her so softly that she nearly chased after him, wanting more force and contact between them. She held her ground for fear of making a fool out of herself, and he dropped his hand to barely trace her collarbone, reminding her how easily his touch could draw out her want. "You should wear the necklace," he absently commented. "It suits you."

With that, he stepped away and grabbed his cloak from where he had tossed it onto the kitchen bench when he entered the home earlier. It reminded him of how agitated he had been when he arrived on his mission, but now she left him calm and peaceful as she often did. Perhaps he would actually be able to sleep through the entire night. He pinned the cloak at his neck and drew the hood on his way out of the house. Myrina was on his heels as usual, and Isidora was already waiting by the door with his horse. Fire practically shot out of her eyes when she looked at the prince since she clearly had some idea of what was going on between the pair. Hector could not help himself. He tilted his head down slightly, peering at her from under his brow, while a mischievous smirk lifted the corners of his lips, and that one look gave Isidora every possible reason not to trust him. He was victoriously taunting her, and in response, her eyes narrowed. He chuckled under his breath and turned to his friend who was standing nearby, oblivious to the exchange. Staring at her, he acknowledged that he enjoyed this situation. He had his friend who he could speak with, but now he also had the beautiful young woman who let him do far more.

"Be well," she said with a gentle smile.

"I will." Hector mounted his steed then, and he kicked the horse's sides, bolting out of the village in a flash. As always Myrina watched after him, and a private smile played upon her lips.

"Guard your virtue," Isidora croaked out and shook her boney finger at Myrina as though to mark her words into the air. The latter rolled her eyes and shucked off the warning without a second thought. She had had enough of others treating her as an innocent, naive child. She was not so ignorant as to not realize what the darkness in Hector's eyes meant, and she knew that he had a similar effect on her. It was not the proper thing to do, and they were enjoying an inappropriate secret; but that made it all the more exciting to her. Staring after his retreating form, she resolved that she would do whatever she pleased with him. No one was deciding for her any longer.

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**Author's Note**: Hey dolls! I have a pretty large section of the next chapter written so hopefully I can finish that over the weekend and get it up for you guys. I had my first two finals yesterday (cringe). First one unfortunately was one of those: "Crap... did I study all the wrong things!" and the second one was like: "I could do this blindfolded and with my hands tied behind my back!" soooo blah. I haven't woken up after 5AM in days which is not fun but heyyyyy it's cool! :) This next chapter is going to be SO much fun and completely unexpected... Oh yea! Insert awesome suspense music now :D

Thank you to Avatar2009, AmyLNelson, and KawaiiHawaiian for the lovely reviews! Avatar: Haha I know right? Hector is kinda your typical, guarded, emotionally stunted man. It's so funny that you brought up the boy from band that you fell for because my friend and I were just reminiscing about our old crushes! It's always fun and intriguing to think back on those and wonder about the unfinished business. Of course you're married now sooo there's no possibility that boy has a chance haha I'm glad you liked the last chapter and felt like you could relate to it (always good to keep things realistic!), and hopefully you enjoyed this one too! Amy: Cliffy resolved :D This was pure Hector/Myrina so hopefully you were into it, gurllll! You are psychic. If you keep it up, I'm gunna have to start paying you off to not reveal my secrets ;PP You know, I was totally on the fence about having Ismene talk to Hector about his situation, but I was like someone has to say something to him or nothing is going to change. To me, he would never say anything to someone he cared about and knew really well, so it kinda had to be her BUT I'm glad you approved :) And the thing about Paris randomly came to me, and I was like this must happen. I was laughing to myself while writing it and having Hector be like "wtf! I should be having sex not you! Dammit... I'm such a pussy" haha I hope you liked this chapter, doll ;) Kawaii: Hey girly! Moving is such a pain in the butt! Thanks for taking the time out to keep reading :) And no worries about the writing... If you force it, you'll probably hate yourself for whatever you write haha It'll come to you. I can feel it! We were joking about me being a description junkie, and when I was writing this, I definitely wrote like over 4,000 words without them actually speaking a single one! Oh well that's how it was in my head. I kinda liked the idea too that they're like "let's do this" and don't have say anything. Hopefully you liked this chapter, and good luck with the move and work! Don't spontaneously combust ;) xoxo


	19. Living in a Den of Thieves

Chapter 18  
"Living in a Den of Thieves"

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Recommended Songs: "Stay Away" – Rooney & "My Body" – Young the Giant

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Even four days later, Myrina was still floating somewhere high above the Earth's surface, careening through the air, lost in her own thoughts. At times her cheeks were sore from smiling to herself so much, and Isidora loomed in the background of her consciousness with a sour expression permanently pasted across her worn features. Evidently their moods shifted inversely: as Myrina became happier with Hector, Isidora grew more irritated and bitter in general until the old servant didn't even desire to be in Myrina's company any longer. It was of no concern to the young woman who was currently humming lightly under her breath while adding the final touches to their supper.

"What has brought my daughter so much happiness?" her father asked with a warm smile. "I have not seen you this content since you were a babe."

Myrina smiled mysteriously and bowed her head, thinking of a certain tall, young man who had kissed her but a few feet from where they were standing. Her heartbeat still quickened each time she remembered the encounter, and she was impatient for him to come back to her. All she could think about was how much she wanted to kiss him again and again until her lips were numb. Of course Hector had warned her about pushing him too far, but she was lost in the fantasy of him. Thinking of his lips caressing the skin beneath her jaw, his weight pressing against her, and his hand gripping her backside left the poor woman flushed and breathless even now. Perhaps there was some part of her that wanted to test his boundaries and to explore that feeling more fully without him making the decision for her. Absentmindedly, she chewed at the corner of her full lip, remembering how it felt when his teeth caught hold of the flesh. She couldn't stop replaying the experience over in her mind.

"She is infatuated with Talaus' son," Alkaios decided and grinned mischeviously at his little sister who shot him a disgusted frown in response. Talaus, their neighbor, had a son who was quite possibly the ugliest man Myrina had ever lain eyes on. Thus, her brother's humor left her less than amused, but he continued nonetheless if only to pester her further, "I could speak to him for you if you wish."

"Alkaios, if you utter a word to him..." she trailed off in a low tone, allowing the unvoiced threat to linger between them. His dark blue eyes shone in amusement, and his grin challenged her to finish her thought. Myrina lifted the knife in her hands and whispered, "I will make you into a stew."

Alkaios threw his head back and laughed heartily which only angered the young woman more, and more over, their father joined in the laughter though he had not overheard the gruesome exchange between his two youngest children. He likely thought they had quipped about some topic or another, and Alkaios' laughter was completely innocent. Little did he know Myrina would truly wish to dismember her brother if he spoke a word to Talaus' son. However, for the time being, she swallowed her irritation as best she could and considered her unfinished task. Her movements were much more brusque as she continued chopping, and Alkaios had successfully dampened her quixotic fantasy with his immature threat. Now all Myrina could consider was how mortified she would be if her brother actually did such a thing. Soon her attention was drawn yet again beyond her thoughts when she noticed that her father and brother's laughter had come to an abrupt halt, and Myrina looked up from the kitchen table to see what had happened.

There was her eldest brother Aeton standing in the doorway of their kitchen, out of breath, and with a distraught look on his face. "We need your help. Come now! All of you!"

The tone of his voice offered no room for objections, and without hesitation, they all abandoned the space and followed him out of the room and toward his home. "What has happened?" their father asked and hurried beside his eldest son as quickly as his old bones would permit.

Alkaios and Myrina followed after the pair as well, but the latter paused to speak with Isidora for only a moment, "Watch the supper. I do not know how long we will be." The old woman grumbled at being left alone to tend to things, but she would do as she was told considering the nature of their abrupt departure and hobbled back into the home. When Myrina caught up with her family once more, Aeton was speaking in a low voice to their father, and Alkaios stood close by to listen as well; but Myrina could not wedge herself near enough to overhear what was being said between the trio. She was aware, however, of Aeton's evident distress, and she had never seen her brother appear so agitated. It caused her stomach to tighten intuitively, and she immediately began wondering if something had happened to Korina. The suspicion set her on edge and ignited her nerves into a frenzy where they fluttered restlessly around her stomach. As they neared they home, her confusion and concern only mounted further when she noted a group of soldiers with their horses gathered outside. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, and she dreaded what such unexpected visitors meant -especially this late in the evening.

Aeton hung back slightly and took Myrina's arm as he instructed, "Go inside and help Korina. Do whatever she asks of you. Do you understand?"

Myrina was too confused, curious, and stunned to ask questions so she merely nodded her head and hurried inside at her brother's command. As she passed by the group of soldiers who were already speaking with her father, she overheard one of them say, "We were riding to Troy when we were ambushed by thieves. They attacked the prince."

All at once her stomach plummeted to her feet, her heart clenched as though gripped by an invisible hand, and all the color drained from her face. The words filled her with pure horror, and she nearly sprinted into the house where she was met with groans of pain coming from a room down the hall. There lay her destination, but she desperately feared what she would see within its confines. Every step that brought her closer to the doorway caused her more anxiety and fear. In a vain attempt to calm herself, her mind nervously assured her, 'It is not him. It cannot be him.' The words formed a mantra in her mind, and she repeated them over and over as if one of those times she might actually believe them. At that moment, Korina stepped out of the doorway with bloody rags in her hands, and she looked simultaneously terrified and relieved when she noticed Myrina had come to her aid.

"You are here," she breathed and anxiously licked her lips. Sweat had accumulated on her brow, and her brown eyes hinted at her uneasiness. "Go and ease him while I gather more clean cloth and a needle and thread. We will need to suture the wound." Without another word, she hurried off to collect those things, and Myrina was left to face him alone. The sight of the blood soaked rags, so violently red, made her stomach painfully turn. She had never seen so much blood. By that time, she was trembling in shock, and she hesitated outside the door where her feet felt as though they were nailed to the floor by her sheer panic. She was too afraid of her worst fears being confirmed. A long groan of pain made her steel herself as she considered that he was hurt, and she was doing nothing to help him. No matter what, she would face him if only to save him. Finally, she gathered enough courage to step into the room.

There was the prince lying on the narrow bed, but it was not her dear friend. He gritted his teeth against the waves of agony shuddering through him, and he considered the latest addition to the room with large, clear blue eyes. His blonde curls stuck to his forehead, and his shirt had been removed, exposing his taught, tan muscles which were dirtied with his own blood. It spilled incessantly out of a wound at his side, and he was holding a pile of saturated rags against the cut in an attempt to help the wound clot. Still, the sheets of the bed were stained red beneath him. The moment she saw him she recognized him, but she prayed he would not think the same of her. Swiftly, she was at his side, trying to take in everything within a second's moment, but she had never before had to deal with such an injury. What was taking Korina?

Staring at his handsome face, she noticed that the loss of blood was making his lids heavy, and he was wavering on the brink of unconsciousness, poised to fall at any moment. Myrina feared allowing him to drift until she knew the extent of his injuries. Thus, she cupped his cheeks and loomed over him, forcing his eyes in her direction. "Stay with me. Do not slip," she commanded, ignoring the way her voice cracked, and she shook him slightly to be sure that he would listen to her.

It took awhile for his eyes to focus on her face as though he were pushing through the heavy fog of pain to reach her, but then a charming smile tugged at his lips -the same smile that had caused her to blush so long ago. He gently touched her arm, smearing his own blood across the tan skin, and whispered weakly, "I know your face."

It was what Myrina had feared, but he looked so different from the man in the market place. His pallor, sweat-lined form, and weak gaze caused the demi-god half of him recede into the background, so that she was left staring at the human prince Aeneas. She could face a human. That divine luminosity made him too disarmingly handsome, and beyond a doubt, it would have made handling him much more difficult. Still, she fretted for something to say. Korina had told her to comfort him as best she could, and she began stroking the damp curls back from his brow and lied, "It is not so bad. You will be well soon."

He swallowed and winced slightly as he murmured, "You are a poor liar."

"I would not lie," she pressed and smiled nervously at him. "It is not bad, but we will need to suture the wound."

To her surprise, he grinned then and flashed his stunning eyes, encouraging her despite his waning strength, "Do what you wish to me."

The caddish comment made her cheeks flush, and she hoped the man was too distracted by his pain to notice the effect he had on her. In a moment, Korina finally returned with more materials in her arms, and Myrina was grateful to finally have company. They immediately set about cleaning the wound at his side which was likely made by a dagger of some sort. It was a clean cut and narrow in width, but there was no telling how deep the blade had penetrated into his side. That was clearly what would determine his fate, but for the time being, they managed to slow the bleeding as best they could. Aeneas did not speak another word while they worked, and Myrina glanced at him occasionally to be sure he was awake. Evidently the man was using every ounce of his waning strength to remain still enough for them to finish their business, but his tense form hinted at the immense pain they were causing him.

When it came time to stitch up the wound, Myrina handed Korina the needle and thread since she was leading their work. Korina's brown eyes peered at Myrina then with such fear in them, it took the latter aback completely. "I have never done this," Korina whispered softly so that Aeneas would not hear her.

Myrina looked at the wound and the pool of blood still drying on the sheet beneath him. They had already wasted too much time, and she genuinely feared what would happen to the prince this night. Her gaze drifted up to his face, and his tense jaw. They had no time to discuss her apprehension. "You will be fine," she said in what she hoped was a comforting tone. "We have no time to discuss this."

The other woman didn't move despite her reassurances, and Myrina took her hand and guided it toward the injury. She had never stitched a wound either, but she had seen Isidora do it once when Aeton cut open his arm as a young man. Korina seemed to steel herself under Myrina's touch, but as she reached out for the skin, her hand shook so badly that there was no way she would meet her mark. All at once, Myrina stopped her with a hand on her arm and commanded, "Go to Aeton and rest for a moment. I will handle this." Korina hesitated only briefly, but she took the advice and left Myrina alone to finish this business.

The young woman stared at Aeneas for a moment, but he did not look at her. "You must be still for me," she told him, expressing her fear that he might twitch or jump when the needle pierced his skin. The man didn't respond, but his silence seemed to tell of his agreement and resolve. Thus, Myrina reached out for the skin and began in the center. Isidora had instructed her that this made suturing the rest easier to do so that the skin did not shift. The first stitch was difficult to manage, and she worried vaguely about doing a poor job. However, she needed to close the wound even if it was not beautifully done. Gradually, she worked her way out to the edges, and she occasionally glanced up at Aeneas to be sure he was still conscious. As she had commanded, he did not move aside from his shallow breathing, and once she was finished, she loomed over him to check on his state. To her horror, he was drifting further away, and she grabbed his face again and begged, "You cannot sleep yet. Stay awake!"

His eyes slowly flickered open, and his lips barely curved up in a smile. Weakly, he placed a hand on her arm and caressed the soft skin tenderly. "I will not leave this world so early in life," he assured her in a calm tone.

For some reason, the sentiment aggravated her. It sounded like something she could hear Hector telling her before he ran off to face a hundred men single handedly. "Is it in the nature of all princes to think themselves invincible?" she murmured beneath her breath, more to herself than to him.

He barely caught the words, but he obviously did not realize their significance. "It is not because I am a prince... It's because of my mother."

Myrina wasn't sure how to discuss his divine heritage, so she asked, "Are you injured elsewhere?"

It took longer this time for him to discern her speech and respond, "What?"

She annunciated more clearly and slightly louder, "Are you injured elsewhere? Other than your side?" Despite the sleepiness tugging at his mind, Aeneas recognized the unique opportunity presented to him, and even if he were on his death bed, he would not miss this chance, not when Fate had brought him to this young woman yet again. Suddenly, he began writhing once more and groaned low in his throat while clenching his eyes in pain. As he had expected, Myrina anxiously asked, "Where?" Her blue-green eyes swept over the exposed skin in their search for any other visible cuts. There was none that she could see, and she pressed, "Where are you hurt? You must tell me."

"My leg," he gasped around the imaginary pain gripping him. Truly, it was a beautiful act.

Immediately, Myrina moved down lower and began looking at his legs which were still covered by his robes, but she saw no blood seeping through the material. "I do not see it," she said tensely, and her confusion and evident blindness only worried her more.

"My leg," he repeated stubbornly and writhed a little bit more to stress his pain. Myrina was too concerned to actually notice his transformation from relatively calm to complete torture. Likewise, he had been speaking full sentences to her before, but now he was barely able to utter two words. She quickly pulled the robes further up his legs and looked for the injury which still eluded her. "Please," he groaned so pitifully that she placed her hands on his legs, feeling for the injury that she could not see.

"Is it broken?" she asked with her confusion and distress mounting by the second.

"Higher," he begged, gripping the sheets of the bed between his large hands. Myrina was blinded by her concern and anxiety as she moved her hands up further to his thighs, not realizing that he was stilling beneath her touch. "You are closer," he gasped dramatically. Her gaze was downcast, monitoring her path along his legs, so she did not see the wolfish grin creeping onto his handsome features. Then her hands touched something that sobered her from her naive, trusting daze in an instant. She snatched back her hands and considered the man while blushing from the crown of her head all the way down to her toes. She was so furious and embarrassed by his crude trick that she wanted to rip out his stitches with her bare hands.

"What?" he asked innocently, but his eyes spoke of his improper want. "Will you not attend to me now?"

"You are disgusting!" she spat angrily, shaking with her fury, and she marched out of the room without hesitation. His laughter trailed out of the room after her, and she had never been so mortified in her entire life. There was no chance that she would ever see him again. He could bleed out, his wound could become infected, and maggots could eat the decaying flesh: Myrina did not care. She wished a thousand horrible, torturous things upon him and fled from the room with fire in her eyes. When she reached the entryway of the home, she saw that her family was speaking with Aeneas' guards, likely discussing their further action. Aeton had his arm about Korina's waist, and the young woman absentmindedly placed a hand over her abdomen, signaling her attachment to her unborn child already. The sight halted Myrina immediately in her tracks, and she stared so intently at the hand on the woman's stomach, thinking of her fragility in that moment. How could she leave Korina alone to care for such a scoundrel? What would he do to her? Myrina grimaced in pure disgust at the thought of him doing or saying anything improper to her pregnant sister-in-law.

The pair turned when they finally noticed Myrina looming behind them, and Aeton considered her distraught countenance and asked, "What is it, Myrina?"

She had intended to excuse herself as swiftly as she could from having to tend to that cad, but her mouth offered a much more sinister plan, "I will stay the night and help you watch him." The moment the words met the air between them, she wished to could force them back inside, but she would do this to protect Korina. Now that she knew of his crafty ways, she would be alert and not allow him to fool her again.

Korina visibly relaxed, showing that she had been dreading stay awake with him, and it only made Myrina more aware that she had done the right thing even if it tormented her. "Thank you," Aeton spoke up with a nod as he tightened his grip around his young wife's waist in a reassuring manner.

The young woman couldn't think of anything further to say, so she merely murmured, "I will bring him some water," and turned to the kitchen. With a cup of water in hand, she began her journey once more down the hallway and toward the back room where the door was still ajar from her abrupt exit. With every step, her anger returned, and she thought of all the terrible, caustic things she would say to him if he dared to speak a word to her again. He had caught her unaware before, but now she was armed and prepared to cut him to pieces should he even look at her in a way she disliked. As she stepped into the room, she called forth the most terrible glare she could muster and directed it toward him. It disappeared immediately, however, when she realized what was awaiting her.

The scoundrel still lay across the bed, but his handsome features were relaxed and peaceful. A few stray blonde curls clung to his forehead while others sprung up elsewhere, his lips were parted slightly to allow each breath, and his muscular chest subtly rose and fell. He looked beautiful, innocent, and harmless while sleeping, but Myrina would not be fooled. She steeled herself once more and approached him with the cup in hand. All at once, she slammed it down on the bedside table, but the man merely grumbled beneath his breath, readjusted himself, and slipped away yet again. Myrina hated him for being so handsome despite his state and for managing to quell her anger toward him. She sighed irritably, grabbed a chair, and sat a reasonable distance away from him. She would not be surprised if he tried to grope her in his sleep, and she was careful to remain out of his reach.

Myrina supposed she could go join her family since he was asleep, but she suddenly felt exhausted from the tense evening and noted that night had long since fallen. She had no desire to engage in small talk while so tired, and though she was annoyed by his mere presence, the prince did not pester her at this time. She would rather enjoy the quiet of the room for now, but she resolved that in awhile she would leave and speak with Aeton about where she should sleep for the night. At the notion, her hand covered a yawn, and she settled lower in the chair. Watching Aeneas sleep somehow made her even more tired as though his weariness were catching. 'You should stay awake,' her mind warned her. 'In case something happens to him.' "I will," she murmured under her breath and closed her eyes for only a moment to rest them. When she tried to open them again, they felt as though they were weighed down by some invisible force. Once more, she yawned and struggled to find a comfortable position in the chair which suddenly seemed to unyielding and stiff beneath her. She barely cracked her lids and considered a small space on the bed in front of her. Her gaze slid over to watch Aeneas who was completely oblivious to her dilemma. At length, her mind surrendered, and she scooted the chair closer to the side of the bed but not too close. She stretched out her spine and crossed her arms on the edge of the bed, nestling her cheek into the crook. Her backside barely balanced on the tip of the chair as if keeping her lower half as far away from him as possible would protect her from him. It was faulty logic -an effect of her sleepy mind. From her current position, she watched his chest rise and fall, admired the strong line of his jaw, and smiled gently at how peaceful he looked. Then her lids fell a final time, and she slipped away beside him.

* * *

The dull, throbbing ache in her lower back cut through her unconsciousness, allowing the present reality to seep into her dream and draw her out of her sleep. Light fell across her eyes, and she winced at the brightness and burrowed her face deeper into her arms to shield herself from its force. For awhile she strove to drift off once more, but now that she had been brought out of her daze, she couldn't ignore the pain in her back. It was undoubtedly an effect of sleeping in such an awkward position. She moaned softly and carefully shifted her hips forward slightly, but the muscles of her back immediately stiffened in response. A tender hand stroked the hair back from her face and comforted her despite her discomfort. She breathed deeply, stretching the muscles when her narrow chest expanded, and she exhaled slowly, feeling the tension relax with her breath. She continued the process over and over while the fingers continued to idly caress her forehead, temple, and down across her cheek to her jaw. The callused tips met the skin of her neck, and her mouth curved up into a smile while she swatted the hand away. "That tickles," she mumbled irritably, but her smile was still in place.

"So you are awake," he answered with a soft chuckle and gently stroked her cheek once more.

Hearing his deep baritone reminded her all at once where she was and furthermore who exactly was touching her. Myrina shot up and out of the chair and stumbled backward to place as much distance between them as possible. Her back hurt like no other, but for the moment, she was far more concerned with the man who had caught her off guard yet again. She fell back against the wall on the opposite end of the room, and her blue-green eyes were wide in her shock. She could not believe she had spent the night beside him and not realized where she was this morning. Aeneas laughed heartily at her reaction from where he was propped up on the pillows. To her horror, his robes were lying in a crumpled heap beside the bed, and a lone sheet covered his legs and was gathered carelessly about his waist. A few more inches, and she would get a glimpse of something else entirely.

"What are you doing?" she hissed suspiciously and felt around on the wall for the door, but she wouldn't dare remove her gaze from him. With his injury, there was no way he could pounce on her, but she felt blindsided and cornered simply by being in his presence.

He grinned in amusement and took a moment to look down at his near naked form. "I am resting." He returned his attention to her and countered, "What are you doing?"

"You touched me," she venomously accused and was growing more annoyed that she could not find the door.

"Your face," he pointed out and smirked. "I couldn't reach any lower."

Myrina's cheeks flushed, and her eyes narrowed. "Stay away from me," she warned in a low voice.

Aeneas sardonically cocked an eyebrow. "I haven't moved." She grumbled beneath her breath as she realized he was effectively pointing out how ridiculous she was acting, but she had no response for him at that moment. She wouldn't dare admit her fault on the matter -not after what he had done last night. "Come and sit," he coaxed in a softer tone. "I know you are probably in pain from how you slept." Myrina didn't budge, and he rolled his eyes. "I swear I won't touch you." Aeneas was right that her back ached from the position, and she reluctantly approached her chair and sat down in it once more. Unfortunately, the seat didn't offer her much of a reprieve, but she had committed to it and wouldn't move now. Showing him any weakness was not an option.

Aeneas granted her a moment to settle herself before commenting, "You remained at my side all night. I'm touched."

"I didn't intend to sleep here," she snapped back immediately to be sure he knew she didn't remain overnight for him.

"Yet you did," he rejoined only because he enjoyed provoking her. "You were worried about me."

"You could have died during the night, and I would not have stirred from my sleep to call your men," she said hotly.

One corner of his mouth lifted in a smile to her annoyance. "You have quite a temper."

"Only toward those deserving of it."

"Are you still angry about what I did? I meant nothing by it." His mischievous blue eyes spoke of the complete opposite.

"I stayed only because I feared what you would do to my sister. She is pregnant and has no need to feel similarly disgusted by your crude methods." To her relief, this seemed to finally quiet the demi-god, and she was grateful for the momentary silence that fell between them. Every word he spoke was laced with the same charisma, and it left Myrina feeling like he was constantly making fun of her. Somehow she didn't their situation amusing whatsoever, and thus, she allowed herself to be as biting as she pleased. It didn't even seem punishment enough for what he did.

"My mother orchestrated this," Aeneas suddenly decided with such certainty that it caught Myrina's attention.

She was only too happy to address the romantic notion and rejoined, "If you truly believe such a thing, you are far more foolish than I initially thought."

"Is it foolish to believe the gods have a hand in our fate?" he asked, daring her to say something heretical. When she didn't utter another word, he continued, "They often intervene on my behalf."

Her gaze settled on the stitching at his side as she ironically pointed out, "Clearly not this time."

"Perhaps my mother was preoccupied… or this may have been her intent." Aeneas stared intently at her until Myrina caved and turned to see where exactly he was guiding the conversation. "To bring me to you." Immediately, she looked away in annoyance, but the prince did not give up so easily. In fact, her blatant disregard for his words and the fire in her eyes only fueled him to be more convincing in his argument. "If I am guilty of foolishness, it was forgetting your beauty." He traced a finger around his wound. "I have rightfully been punished for my absentmindedness. I will never again forget."

"I wonder how many women have fallen victim to your charm… Is that your mother's will or your own?"

"My mother is the Goddess of Love," he said and smiled broadly. "And I am a lover of women."

Myrina had had enough of his charm and alluring words, and she glared at him as she pointedly commented, "Then you are selfish in your love. You cannot give yourself to one person."

"I can," he assured her and reached up to cradle her chin between his thumb and forefinger. She attempted to move away, but he held her firmly, forcing her gaze to meet his. "But I never thought I would find a woman worthy of my full affection." She knocked his hand away and stood up to place some space between them lest he reach for her again.

"I do not care if you are a prince or the son of Aphrodite. You should not treat women so carelessly. I have heard of your reputation," she icily spat. "The only courtesy you offer women is your back when you leave."

She expected to cut him down with her words, but he smiled and promised, "I can show you the extent of my generosity and graciousness." The edge to his voice and darkness to his eyes was unmistakeable.

"I have already seen what you can offer me," she countered brazenly, and her eyes flickered down toward his waist to be sure he knew what she was referring to. "I am not impressed." With that she sharply turned on her heel and left the room to find Korina. Little did she know she left Aeneas grinning after her. Her caustic comments did not bother the prince in the least. Rather, her disregard for his charm amused him, and he loved that she did not give into him easily. He enjoyed a challenge, and he waited patiently for her to return while already planning all the ways he could change her hasty judgment of him. His mother certainly had picked a worthy adversary for him.

Myrina found her sister-in-law in the kitchen where she was having a late meal. Korina smiled brightly when the other woman entered and asked, "How is the prince faring?"

"Well enough to be a thorn in my side," she grumbled and grabbed a handful of grapes.

"Men can be quite exaggerated when they are injured," Korina commented with a comforting smile. "Be patient with him."

Myrina wished she could somehow sum up in a single, caustic comment the extent of her irritation with Aeneas, but she didn't want to burden Korina. If she told her what Aeneas did last night, Korina would no doubt feel the need to protect her when Myrina was already trying to protect Korina. No, she would shoulder this task silently, but Aeneas was not making it any easier for her. Rather than responding, she silently ate a few more grapes, and Korina said, "One of his men left for Troy to tell the king of his misfortune. Surely they'll send someone to care for him or take him to Troy to heal."

"He will need to rest and regain his strength before he can make the journey," Myrina pointed out drearily. "He will remain here for at least a few more days. I doubt they'll come for him any sooner than that."

"But they may send a healer to care for him. Then you would not have to stay." That was true, and Myrina could only hope the king was so gracious as to send her a reprieve. "Thank you for staying with him last night. I am so tired lately that I would have been no use."

Evidently Korina had not checked on the pair or realized that Myrina had fallen asleep beside the prince. "I know you are in a sensitive state. I will help you in any way I can."

"And I am grateful for your help. If you need to rest later, tell me, and I will care for him while you relax." Korina turned her attention to the food in the kitchen and pointed out, "You should see if he can eat something. He'll regain his strength faster."

Myrina's escape was short lived, and she loaded a bowl with various fruits and some bread as well as a fresh cup of water and returned to the room balancing the bounty in her hands. Aeneas turned his head to greet her with a smile, but she merely approached him and set the contents on the bedside table. The cup from last night had likely been emptied when he woke up in the morning, and she moved it to the side to take away later. For the time being, she offered him the bowl of food and said, "You should eat."

"Thank you," Aeneas rejoined kindly, and it seemed that for the moment the war between them had come to a halt. Perhaps they both were licking their wounds and preparing for the next battle.

In any case, Myrina did not dare drop her defense but idly commented, "One of your guards has gone to Troy to tell the king that you are here."

"What of my other men?"

"I did not think to ask... I am sure they have remained. I doubt they wanted to disturb you so soon." A peaceful silence fell between them while Aeneas slowly ate. Myrina had not noticed before that his skin was still paler than usual, and his movements were cautious, signaling his lingering weakness. She had been too caught up attacking him, and now she felt somewhat guilty for being so rude. Then again he did deserve it. Even with his body in a weakened state, his tongue was as quick as ever. "How is your wound?" she asked after a moment.

"Sore," he answered with a half smile. "It pains me, but you doctored it well. It will heal slowly... But in a few days, I should be able to ride to Troy."

Myrina hesitated briefly before wondering, "What happened?" Though Hector always answered her queries without taking offense, she couldn't be sure this prince would feel the same way.

He didn't seem bothered by it and finished chewing another grape while remembering the encounter. "I was called to Troy. Along the way, a band of thieves were hiding among the brush. They surprised us. I was in front, and they startled my horse. I was thrown. I had a pack of supplies behind me, and it softened my fall. I would have been injured further had it not been there." He paused and noticed how Myrina had perked up to listen intently to his story. "They must have known that I was a prince or at least thought I was the leader because two of the thieves attacked me first. One of them distracted me while the other crept up behind me and stabbed me... One of my guards killed the man, but it was already too late. I lost a few men, but the others brought me here. It was the closest village. I would not have made it to Troy." Aeneas paused then and asked, "Were any of my other men injured?"

"I do not know," she admitted. "I have barely left the room since last night, but I saw them on my way here..." She trailed off as she tried to remember the scene from last night. She attempted to picture the soldiers and remember if any were hurt, but the night was a blur in her mind. She couldn't force the image to sharpen before her eyes. "I can't recall."

"Will you find out for me today?"

She nodded with a soft smile when she noted the hint of weariness to his voice. Apparently the conversation during the morning had drained him, and she took the bowl of unfinished fruit from his hands and set it on the bedside table. She then retrieved the cup of water and commanded, "Drink some, and then you must rest."

"So she does smile," he commented gently and took the cup from her to slowly sip at the water.

Despite herself, Myrina easily quipped, "Do not become accustomed to it."

This made Aeneas grin at her over the cup, and he warned, "I am stubborn. I will do what is necessary to make you smile... You have a beautiful smile."

Myrina took the cup from him and was pleased that she didn't blush this time. That put her in better spirits than his charming words. "Rest. I will stay. I won't fall asleep this time." Without another word, the prince settled down into the bed with a satisfied smile on his face and drifted off into sleep. As she promised, she didn't stray from his side.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Hello lovies! Ok so there was totally part of me that wanted to title this chapter "The Return of Aeneas" hahaha I was just so super excited to bring him back into play and finally have him and Myrina talk. They are so much fun to have interact because they're so different :)

Thank you Avatar2009, AmyLNelson, and KawaiiHawaiian for your fantastic reviews! Avatar: Hey doll :) I'm so glad you liked the last chapter, and yes, they have finally given into their attraction to one another! Yay for long making out scenes haha And Hector was able to restrain himself for now. We'll see if he can keep it up later on haha He is only human after all... and male. Sooo we shall see! I hope you liked this chapter :D Amy: Howdy! Best chapter yet? Heck yes! And I'm so flattered that you like my song choices haha I kinda wondered if anyone even cared. I've seen like one other person do it for their story, and I thought it was a cool bit of extra insight to help set the tone of the chapter. So awesome that you approve! Let me know if you liked this chapter as well :) By the way, finals are exams you take in college at the end of a semester. They're usually comprehensive and make you want to jump off tall buildings haha ;) Kawaii: Hey dialogue junkie ;P Finals are going torturously slow but after they're over, I get two weeks of summer so that's something! How's the moving and working and whatnot? I'm so happy you liked the chapter, and the development of Hector and Myrina's relationship. There's definitely ups and downs, and I'm having so much kinda switching roles between them: now Myrina's the one who wants to push things and Hector's kinda pumping the breaks to keep from just ravaging her haha Aeneas is back :D Were you pleased? I hope you liked this chapter xoxo


	20. Alone, Together

Chapter 19  
"Alone, Together"

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Recommended Songs: "Kissing Families" – Silversun Pickups & "Vagabond" – Wolfmother

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The following afternoon, Hector was in place directly at the right of his father in the throne hall. He was dressed in his royal blue robes and sat at attention with his chestnut eyes scanning the rulers, councilmen, and generals gathered on either side of the narrow pool of water carved out through the center of the hall. The prince was searching for any sign of his cousin Aeneas who had not arrived the day before as he was intended to. Since his father Anchises, the ruler of Dardania, was crippled and unable to journey to Troy, they expected Aeneas to appear in his stead as he normally did. After all, Priam had called several of the rulers from the southern cities of Troad as well as a few from the northern parts, and there was not a single other representative missing. Hector irritably sighed beneath his breath and assumed that the demi-god had perhaps been too preoccupied with the revelry of his daily life to pry himself from between a woman's legs and away from his full cup of wine to attend this meeting, but even Aeneas shouldn't disobey an order from the king. At the thought, Hector glanced at his father who as usual gave no outward clues as to his private thoughts, but Priam was no doubt displeased by the young man's absence.

Admittedly, Hector despised to a certain extent the political aspect of his position. He realized its significance and would never dare be absent from such meetings, but he found it difficult at times to hold his tongue when his father's councilmen discussed war tactics or reasons why the army would be needed in certain cases. How men who had never faced a day of battle ever in their lives thought themselves capable of determining the army's position and activity was beyond him, and it easily aggravated the prince. Years spent at war had easily doused his haste for combat. There was nothing glorious about his countrymen falling beside him while these councilmen remained safe behind Troy's walls, feasting on lavish meals, gorging themselves with wine, and teaching their children to be similarly gluttonous and petty. If he could throw them to the front of the battle line's for one day, he would, and he would not hold his tongue from lashing out at them when they ran for cover like cowards. This train of thought only agitated him further, and so Hector forced himself to shuck off his dark thoughts and address this meeting with the same air of neutrality his father had instilled in him from a young age.

Once everyone was gathered and situated within the large hall, the meeting began. Its purpose was to discuss the uprising stemming from Cilician Thebe and spreading out to affect nearby cities and villages. Already, Priam had received word that villages along the border of Troad and Cilicia had fallen under the control of the mob, and now there lay an important decision before them. They could wait for the mob to attack their southern towns, or they could send several groups of soldiers to occupy the cities and protect them in the event that the mob fled further north into Troad. They hoped the forests surrounding Mount Ida might stifle their advance, but the rulers of Kolonai and Pedasus were not so easily satisfied. They wished to have Trojan soldiers aid in protecting their cities so that they were fully prepared and armed in the event of the attack which seemed inevitable.

"My people do not feel safe," Altes, King of Pedasus and ruler of the Legeles tribe, spoke bluntly from his seat. His city lay on the Satnioeis River at the southernmost point of Troad and slightly west of Mount Ida. Thus, his territory would be the first reached by the mob should King Eetion of Cilician Thebe's forces drive them north. "These men have no allegiance, no one to call them off the hunt. They are drunk with their blood lust, and they are fleeing from Eetion's forces in the south."

"They are desperate," Phaeton of Priam's council clarified. "They have suffered a disaster and are homeless and starving. These are farmers and common village people –not seasoned soldiers. They carry scythes, not swords. They are searching for food and supplies. They are not at war."

"And how do you think they find these supplies?" King Cycnus of Kolonai countered. His city was situated further northwest than Pedasus, but it would be next in line if Pedasus were attacked by the mob. Cycnus held a certain amount of sway since he had married Priam's sister Procleia and was thus Priam's brother-in-law and Hector's uncle by marriage. His son, Tenes, who was older than Hector by several years stood behind his father and was rather brooding by the looks of it. Though Procleia had died years ago and Cycnus had remarried a young woman named Philonome, he still maintained his familiar status beside the Trojan royalty. Thus, he spoke freely and continued, "They do not approach a village and request water, food, and a place to rest for the night. They have attacked unarmed civilians and stolen whatever they desire by force. Whether it is a farmer's blade or a soldier's sword, it can be handled as a weapon. There is even word they set fire to a village. Violence is their nature, and this mob will not be quelled unless we act now. We should not wait for them to attack our cities."

"King Eetion has not asked for our aid or sent us a warning of any sort," Bucolion, a councilman, pointed out. "Perhaps affairs are not as poor as we suspect."

"Eetion can barely protect his own people and has not been able to control this uprising. What makes you think he cares about the state of affairs in Troy?" Altes irritably asked. "He may wish for the chaos to spill over onto our lands so that we are forced to intervene and defeat this mob for him."

"Our allies in Thebe have endured a grave misfortune, and we should not judge Eetion's actions so swiftly," Priam spoke up from his throne, and those gathered immediately quieted to hear what the King of Troy would say on the matter. The old king took a breath to pause before he reluctantly admitted, "But my concern is my people and my lands. I will not allow them to be taken whether by soldiers or farmers." He turned his attention to Euryalus, one of his generals who had fought by his side for decades. "Euryalus, what have you to say?"

"It is a wise decision, my king," Euryalus agreed easily. "Our entire army has no need to march to the southern border in order to stifle this threat. If we send but a few contingents of foot soldiers and archers to the southern border, we could protect the villages and cities and push the mob back into Cilicia if necessary."

Without hesitation, Glaucus stood and offered, "I will lead my men south if you wish it, my king." Hector smirked despite himself and met the general's gaze. Years spent at war together had garnered them an odd friendship, and the prince had become well aware of Glaucus' excitement for combat and battle -even if it were against villagers. Thus, he was not surprised in the least that the general jumped at the opportunity to engage in combat.

Before the king could answer, one of his servants led a soldier into the room, and Priam's gaze drifted back to examine this new addition. Likewise, all the men turned to see what had distracted their king from the current conversation and watched as the soldier approached Priam and knelt before him. Hector immediately recognized his armor as the kind the Dardanian soldiers wore, and he abruptly dreaded what news this man brought to them considering his cousin's absence.

"Speak," Priam commanded dryly as though irritated by the interruption.

"My king," the soldier responded, "I bring news of my lord, Prince Aeneas."

"What excuse has he conjured this time?" Priam asked while idly strumming his fingers on the stone arm of his throne. "Does he not find my company worthy of his time so that he does not appear when his king calls for him?"

"My king, the prince did not disobey your order. We were travelling to Troy yesterday when our caravan was attacked by a band of thieves. The prince was wounded while fighting them off, and we brought him to a nearby village to heal," the soldier swiftly explained. "His injury was too grave to bring him to Troy."

"This is most unfortunate," Priam admitted.

"He lives?" Hector interrupted.

"Yes, my prince. He was resting when I left this morning," the Dardanian answered. "He took a dagger to the side, but the villagers have tended to his wounds and are caring for him."

"We should send a healer to him," Hector decided then and turned to his father as he spoke, "I can bring him to Troy when he is well enough to make the journey." The man was clearly concerned for his friend. Even though Aeneas' mother was a goddess, the mortal half of him could bleed. Such an injury was dangerous and should be handled by someone more knowledgeable than villagers.

Priam nodded in silent agreement and continued to the soldier, "We will send one of our healers with you back to the village. Once the prince is strong enough to come to Troy, he may finish recuperating here." The king paused then and wondered, "What of the thieves?"

"All killed, my king."

"Good."

"We lost a few men," the soldier commented more to himself than the group gathered.

"I will have some of my men collect them. They will have all the proper funeral rights." The soldier visibly relaxed and seemed pleased with this promise. "Rest for now. You will escort the healer back to the village with you later." With that, Priam raised his hand to call forth a servant who led the soldier away, and he then considered the council still gathered and waiting expectantly for him to continue the discussion. Instead, the king decided, "We will break for now. Cycnus, Altes, you will have my decision by the evening." Though they were likely disappointed that the meeting had ended so swiftly, the group disbanded without a word of protest, but Priam motioned for his generals to remain. They approached closer to the king who had more to consult with them away from the impassioned opinions of the southern rulers.

"Our settlements in the south are important. We cannot allow them to be affected by this uprising. Our forces will extinguish this flame before it spreads too far into our lands," the king proposed and scanned the faces of the generals assembled. "We should have several contingents set up camp in Pedasus and Kolonai where they can easily reach the surrounding villages."

"Pedasus is the crux. We should concentrate our numbers there since they will most likely be hit first," Hector suggested. "If they fall, Kolonai and the villages lying along the southern coast will be next."

Priam considered his son with an unreadable gaze before he glanced at his most trusted general and decided, "Yes, Euryalus, you will be in charge of affairs in Pedasus. Glaucus, you will lead your foot soldiers there." Once more his blue eyes slid back toward his son as he continued, "And Hector will join you." The prince somehow managed to contain his utter surprise and elation at being given such a charge, and he merely granted his father a firm nod. Priam looked away without another word, and they continued to discuss how many men to send, how best to divide up the troops among the two cities, and when they should leave. The conversation lasted well into the afternoon, and they parted early in the evening to rest briefly before the council was called a final time. Undoubtedly, Altes and Cycnus would be pleased to know they would have the aid of Troy's soldiers to fend off the mob should they penetrate the forests of Mount Ida.

Once he returned to his own quarters, Hector inevitably began wondering about his cousin's state. By that time, the Dardanian soldier and healer had already left to return to the village, and Hector wished he had been able to speak with the soldier further before they departed. Still, he was glad that Aeneas would be treated by one of the royal healers sooner rather than later. Hopefully, the gods would smile on his friend and help him heal without any difficulties. As it was, Hector would see him again in two or three days' time depending on what news the healer sent back concerning the wound. There was no need to ride any sooner when he had business to attend to within the palace. He and Glaucus under Euryalus' supervision would begin planning for the trip south to Pedasus during the following day, and though Hector was pleased that his father entrusted him with this task, he felt that he had only just returned from battle across the Aegean. The mere thought of leaving his beloved city, friends, and family for months so soon easily left him exhausted. It was his duty, however, and Hector would never voice his complaints aloud.

Rather, the prince sat on the edge of his bed and retrieved the tarnish gold pin from his bedside table where it had rested ever since he had returned from war. As he was prone to, he absentmindedly tossed the pin in his hand, and the simple token guided his thoughts to the young woman he had not seen in days. Since he had left, his nights had been uninterrupted, and he felt that he had regained a certain amount of control over his life. She had disrupted it so easily as though he were merely a spinning top, balancing unsteadily on its narrow edge, and she tipped him over with a breath so that he spiraled out of control. Seeing her body through the wet, transparent material had completely shattered his perception of her, and he had not realized until then how their relationship kept him grounded -how this silly, tarnished, insignificant token of her affection for him kept him calm in times of tribulation. It seemed so ironic that simultaneously she was a force that could provoke his most fervent rage and in the next moment bring him such overwhelming peace. It was as if she could reach through his flesh and bones and pluck at the chords of his soul, playing him however she pleased. In the days away from her, this realization of her effect on him and consequent power over him left him uncertain and uneasy. He did not like the idea of any holding sway over him and especially not a young virgin.

Was that the source of her power? Her innocence? The idea that he could not have her? Though there was undoubtedly some dark part of him that wanted his fill of her, he was thinking more clearly these days. She was his young friend, and he would not take advantage of her to simply rid his mind of her poison. That was too intimate and too personal an experience for him. It was sex, but it was her first time. She would be so vulnerable and open to him. He did not think he could bear to take her in such a state despite what improper wants might be trying to tempt him. As usual, however, he acknowledged that all coherent thought evaded him when in her presence. The sound of her soft moan resonated through his mind and made his abdomen tighten even then. He wanted her for all the wrong reasons, but his conscience had made an appearance after all this time to warn him from wading in too deeply. He could not allow her to pull him under.

* * *

In the morning after her father and brother had left for the sea, Myrina walked across the village and toward Aeton's home. Korina had convinced her to rest during the night while she watched the prince, and though Myrina argued with her, she ultimately caved and was grateful for the time away from the aggravating man. Already she was bracing herself for what he might say or do to her on this particular day, but she resolved it was better he attempt something improper with her than Korina who was in a delicate state. Myrina could handle him and had no qualms with admonishing him for his behavior despite his royal and divine origins. He was still a man, and he had no right to treat her with anything less than the utmost courtesy after she had saved his life.

Her gaze drifted off to her right where the homes parted to reveal the plains stretching out to Troy. Part of her hoped to see the black outline of a certain rider approaching her from the distance, but she knew it was too early in the day to be expecting him. Still, she looked and was admittedly disappointed by the uninterrupted space that met her. It had been six days since their last encounter, and she yearned for his presence. Did he not desire to see her? The gaps between his visits were becoming harder and harder to bear. She had always known from the beginning that this was the curse of their unlikely relationship, but her patience was wearing thin especially as they stumbled onto this new territory. She wanted him, and she did not want to wait. However, she sighed softly and turned away from the taunting emptiness in the distance. Aeneas, although incredibly irritating, at least offered her a distraction from thinking about another prince.

She stepped through the entryway and heard voices further into the house. Following the now familiar path, she entered into the vestibule where she found Korina, an old man, and one of Aeneas' guards. They turned curiously to see the new addition, and Korina smiled brightly at her.

"Oh Myrina, I hoped I would speak with you last night, but I was too preoccupied to remember before too late," she said with an apologetic look. "The king has sent a healer to care for the prince."

Clearly that explained the old man, and Myrina asked politely to fill the silence, "How fares the prince?"

"His wound heals slowly," the man answered. "He will survive, but it will take time. He was lucky to have been brought here so swiftly. Any later, and he would have lost too much blood to recover. You did well suturing the wound, but he needs rest."

"Myrina, will you bring the prince some water while I show him where he may stay?" Korina asked before she guided the two men away and left Myrina alone to face Aeneas yet again. She retrieved a cup of water for the man and turned down the hall to his room. When she entered, he was sitting up in bed with the lone sheet crumpled carelessly in his lap. His body had been mostly cleaned, and already that inner luminosity was returning, giving the tan skin a certain glow, his blue eyes a crispness like the endless sky, and his smile an allure that made women weak in the knees. Myrina pretended not to notice the effect he had on her when he smiled broadly at her appearance.

"I worried you would not see me again," he commented and seemed pleased to have thought wrongly on this occasion.

"I did not know the king sent a healer," she quickly rejoined. For some reason she was always certain that he did not misunderstand her presence. Then again, he had a way of drawing his own conclusions despite what she said. It was incredibly annoying.

He took the cup of water from her hand and nodded toward the door as he said, "The other woman barely speaks with me. I asked if she would help me bathe, and she sent her husband in her stead." Myrina couldn't help laughing softly at how put off he sounded with the entire affair when she was not surprised in the least. Aeton and Korina were only just married. Why would he allow her to wash this disarmingly handsome prince and infamous wooer of women?

"You find my misfortune amusing?" Aeneas asked and frowned somewhat deeper.

"If it is a misfortune for a husband to rightfully protect his young, pregnant wife from your advances, then yes, I find it incredibly amusing," she countered shamelessly with the smile still on her lips.

"I do not know which is worse: the wound at my side or your constant remarks at my expense."

"You complain that a husband wishes to keep his wife from you, yet you do not think for one moment what that says of your character," she pointed out. "I wonder how many wives you have stolen, prince."

"Not nearly as many as one would think." He paused thoughtfully before admitting, "Then again, it is not a question I usually ask in the midst of… our encounters." With the last word, he grinned devilishly as though Myrina held any doubts about what the nature of his encounters with women entailed.

"You do not wonder if the woman you are with happens to have a husband?" she asked without bothering to hide the hint of disgust to her tone. She arranged the various items on the bedside table to make room for his cup when he needed to set it down.

As usual, he shucked off the subtle insult without a care and commented instead, "What I wonder is who gave you this." His hand reached up to touch one of the delicate shells on the necklace she wore.

Myrina moved away and out of his reach as she lied, "I bought it at the market in Troy."

"No you did not." He met her gaze unabashedly and continued, "That lie may appease your family, but I know a man gave it to you."

"I would be curious to hear how you've come to such an assumption," Myrina challenged with a smirk since she doubted he had any reasoning for his ridiculous accusation -even if it were true.

"You could not afford this," he said flatly and ignored the icy glare she threw in his direction. "And I recognize its origins. The women of the Bisaltae tribe make those, and no merchants trade with the Bisaltae. The only way you could have this necklace is if a soldier brought it back from Greece and gave it to you. Am I correct?"

He was far too correct for her comfort, but she simply murmured to deflect having to answer, "You have quite an imagination."

"And you have a way of avoiding my questions," he countered brazenly. "I do not forget so easily."

"I did not expect you to forget. I expected you to be courteous and realize I do not wish to discuss this topic." She had nothing more to occupy her hands, and she reluctantly settled into the chair beside his bed and looked him in the eye. "Though I should have known better. For a prince, you have no concept of manners."

Aeneas grinned broadly at the insult and clarified, "I do, but I merely wish to know who my competition is."

His continued advances were wearing on her patience, and she warned, "You would not want to be his competition." She simply wished to cut his ego down a few notches more than attempting to brag about her friend.

"Why is that?"

"For one," she said haughtily and pushed her hair across her shoulder, "he has never lost a duel."

Aeneas did not even pause before rejoining, "Nor have I."

At such a response, she quickly listed off Hector's characteristics which she knew Aeneas could not match, "He is brave and strong and well-mannered… unlike some."

"He sounds utterly boring," he commented with a mild grimace of distaste.

The tone of his voice was unmistakable, and she victoriously smiled at him and commented, "You sound jealous."

Without hesitation, Aeneas lifted his brow and admitted with that wolfish grin tugging at his lips, "Extremely." This caused Myrina to roll her eyes and look away from him while he pressed, "What can he offer you that I cannot? I am a prince. I can give you anything you desire."

"I do not care about his riches," she said earnestly and idly arranged the material of her dress where it fell across her knees.

"You must," he assured her and glanced down at the necklace when she granted him a questioning look.

"I wear it because he gave it to me," she easily clarified.

"And you are completely oblivious to its beauty? I doubt you are so thoughtful."

"Your insults do not bother me in the least."

"It was not an insult… Tell me what must I do to gain your favor."

"I have seen your true nature. There is nothing that would attract me to you."

"Am I truly so repulsive to you?"

Myrina shifted uncomfortably, feeling that sense of warning to hold her tongue, but she ignored it and snapped back, "Yes."

"What about me offends you?" he asked without a hint of emotion to his voice or face.

She paused and was caught between being honest or avoiding answering all together. A glance at his earnest expression grounded her, and she admitted, "Your carelessness. You do not think about how your actions will affect others. The way you speak to people and behave toward them... I don't understand it."

"I am honest," Aeneas countered. "It is my flaw. I cannot hold my tongue. When I am met with any man, I acknowledge his nature; when I am asked my thoughts, I answer truthfully; and when I see a beautiful woman, I want to let her know the extent of her allure. I would worship her." The sincerity of his words disarmed her, and he smiled at her uncertainty. "I would endure a thousand blades to see you smile for me."

She turned away from him, afraid that staring into his eyes any longer might cause her cheeks to burn. "If you want my attention," she finally said and glanced back at him, "no more of your tricks. I have no patience for them."

"You have your beauty, and I have my tricks," he rejoined. "I only use the tools the gods have given me."

She paused and clearly seemed torn between voicing her thought and remaining silent, but the former won after a moment of consideration. "I believe there is more to you than tricks."

Aeneas smiled charmingly at her, and she purposely kept her gaze downcast for fear of what that smile would do to her. "You may be the only one." With that, he took a breath and shifted the topic to something much more light-hearted, "You asked how many wives I have stolen... I was caught once."

As he had anticipated, she looked at him with questioning eyes and clarified, "You were caught by the husband?"

He chuckled sheepishly and readjusted his position on the bed. Myrina kept her eyes from observing how the sheet moved further down his lap, nearly exposing himself. "We were in the midst of..." He paused and grinned. "When her husband entered the room."

"What did you do?" she asked with her mouth ajar in shock.

"I told him I would be finished in a moment if he cared to wait his turn," the prince answered lightly.

Her blue-green eyes narrowed, and she accused, "You lie."

"You've caught me," he admitted, and she relaxed at the assurance. "I wish I would have. He tried to fight me while I was naked. At least if I had said something, he would have a reason for acting so uncouth."

"He caught you with his wife!" she sputtered.

"There was no need to draw swords," he returned, tilted his head as he recognized the pun, and considered Myrina curiously to see if she caught it as well. Initially the girl stared at him with evident distaste at his actions, but then she seemed to understand the expectant look in his eyes. Her gaze unwittingly shifted to the cloth in his lap, and she recognized his intent. All at once, the blood flooded her cheeks, blooming red beneath the tan skin, and she looked away in embarrassment. There was something so refreshing to him about her shyness and no doubt inexperience. Aeneas loved it and wondered, "Have you ever been with a man?"

If it were possible, her cheeks turned a deeper shade, and she shot back, "I am not married."

"That does not answer my question," he challenged if only to make her squirm, but her full lips were pressed in a thin line, showing her resolve not to speak further. He did not give up and pressed, "Have you?"

"No," she snapped viciously. "I am not so easily had."

"Then I will have to work harder," he murmured and grinned broadly when her eyes widened in horror. It was the reaction he had hoped for, and it was as amusing as he had expected.

At that moment, one of his guards stepped into the doorway and said, "My lord." He paused, however, when he noticed the young woman seated beside the prince, and he glanced back at Aeneas to see if he should leave the pair alone. It was a natural occurrence when being an aid to this prince. Myrina took advantage of the interruption to stand from her chair and speed out of the room. The guard barely had time to step out of her way before she brushed past him and hurried away down the hall.

"Did I interrupt?" the guard asked in mild confusion while staring after her.

"Not yet," Aeneas answered and chuckled beneath his breath.

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**Author's Note:** Hey gorgeous gals! YAY! I've been trying to upload this chapter forever, but I couldn't. But the fanfic gods were with me today :) Did I mention that Aeneas is so much fun to write? Haha So today I took a break from writing my Computer Linguistics essay to get some grub, and as I'm driving to get delicious pho, this hearse starts tailgating me. And I'm like how ironic would it be if I got in a wreck and died because of a hearse? Part of me wanted to yell out, "You're skipping a few steps!" I realized that was really morbid, and I got all suspicious and wondered if the universe was trying to warn me of my doom. Then the hearse turned, and I got delicious pho and all was right with the world! P.s. I don't know if ancient farmers used scythes but whatever. Minor detail right?

Thank you to AmyLNelson, Avatar2009, and KawaiiHawaiian for the wonderful reviews! :D Amy: I've left you guessing? OMG Do I get a cookie for that since you're supposed to be my mind reader? haha As for the thing with Aeneas, well... Obviously he's into Myrina. I kinda think he is in love with all women. Yea, he's a womanizer, but I don't feel like in my head that he does it in a degrading manner really. I genuinely feel like he just loves women and how they look and their curves and everything, but he really likes that Myrina's kinda sassy and feisty with him even though she's like "uhhh you're a dick". Go figure! Hector is going to make an appearance on the scene in this next chapter sooo we'll see how things go! Hope you liked this chapter :) xoxo Avatar: Hey doll! Yea the back and forth between Myrina and Aeneas is definitely fun haha Aeneas is Hector's counsin and close friend since childhood. He's the Prince of Dardania and Aphrodite's son. He helped Hector look for his dad's horse, they fought in battle together, and stuff. I don't really know how his character came about in mind. I swear sometimes I feel like I don't control them. They just act of their own accord, and I write it down! And this story is definitely not going to end anytime soon. I have to get them through the Trojan War which is like 15 years away. I'm going to fast forward in places (sort of like with the Thracian war), but I still have a lot planned that I'm going to write out. I hope you liked this chapter, lovely! :D Kawaii: Do you have a sixth sense for the days I'm going to update because you always get in a review like the morning of haha Yea... no good comes of Aeneas' attention, right? It will be funny to see how Hector responds when he figures out Aeneas is into Myrina. Jealous man battle? Perhaps perhaps... :D I hope you liked this chapter and will continue reading!


	21. Fool for Fire

Chapter 20  
"Fool for Fire"

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Recommended Songs: "I Want To Hold Your Hand" – T.V. Carpio & "Howlin' For You" – The Black Keys

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Four days later, Hector and a few guards rode to the village to retrieve Aeneas if he were well enough to make the journey. The healer had recommended such a length of time for the Dardanian prince to regain his strength, his wound to begin healing, and his body to recuperate slightly from the ordeal. Hector would be pleased to see that his cousin was faring well, but his mind inevitably considered the young woman housed at this village. With his guards around, he doubted he would have the chance to see her and speak with her, and already it had been ten days since their last encounter. He would not blame her if she were angry with him for being absent for so long, but he had truly been preoccupied with his planning. Hector, Glaucus, Euryalus, and their troops would travel south to Pedasus in a weeks' time or perhaps sooner. It would take them around four days to reach Pedasus, but they would likely stop in Kolonai for a day or two and leave a few contingents with Cycnus to calm his uneasiness. Thus, the journey could take up to a week in whole, but Hector had no qualms about it. It was certainly better riding through Troad's countryside than being confined on a tiny ship to sail across the Aegean for days on end.

The sun was beginning its descent back across the endless sky when Hector and his men arrived at the village, and the prince's chestnut eyes scanned the familiar land where Myrina lived, straining for a glimpse of the young woman out and attending to her chores. Unfortunately, he had no such luck, and he was disheartened somewhat by that fact. One of Aeneas' guards guided them to the home where the demi-god was being kept, and Hector was not granted much more time to consider his friend's whereabouts. Instead, he ducked inside the home and followed as the Dardanian guard led them toward a back room. Along the way, a young woman around Hector's age bowed as the Trojan prince passed, but he barely spared her a glance. Aeneas was sitting up in bed with a grin strewn across his features when they entered the rooom, and Hector smirked in return.

"You're still hanging on?" he taunted good-naturedly as he approached his friend.

"Do not look so surprised," Aeneas rejoined. "Such a wound might have taken you, but I'm not so weak, cousin."

At the comment, Hector bent forward slightly, and Aeneas moved his arm to show him the stitching at his side. "It is barely a flesh wound," the former scoffed and took the available seat beside the bed.

"You've always had poor eyesight," Aeneas murmured with a chuckle.

Hector ignored the quip and asked earnestly, "How are you faring?"

"I grow stronger each day."

"Eumolpus is one of our best healers."

"He has helped me," Aeneas admitted, "but you should not have sent him."

"You would rather I let you suffer?"

"I suffer more now with that old man at my side than before," he answered irritably.

The Trojan prince's brow knit slightly, but he knew his friend all too well not to realize what had happened. "Have you run out of Dardanian women already?"

"My mother has sent me an angel as a mere village girl," the man rejoined with a distant look.

He recalled the woman with dark brown curls bowing to him as he entered, and he guessed, "The woman of the house?"

"No, she has a jealous husband. He barely lets her near me," Aeneas commented, and Hector chuckled beneath his breath. At least there was one man smart enough to keep his wife at a distance from his cousin. The Dardanian continued after a pause, "I have seen her before at the market in Troy. She was knocked into me by the crowd." He smiled at the memory. "I would not normally remember... but my mother has brought me to her for a reason."

"And you think you'll find that reason in her bed," Hector said dryly. Watching his cousin prey on women over the years had left the Trojan prince mainly indifferent. As a young man, there might have been part of him that admired or perhaps even envied Aeneas' gift for wooing women, but now he occasionally pitied them. They never had a fighting chance once Aeneas set his eyes on them.

"It is where I would like to begin my search," he admitted devilishly and laughed to himself, "but she will not have me."

This pleased the prince who grinned and recommended, "Cousin, keep to your Dardanian women."

"I won't let you keep this one to yourself," Aeneas warned. "I have already claimed her, and my mother brought me to her. It is the will of the gods."

Hector smirked and acknowledged that as a demi-god, Aeneas often decreed the gods' will, and it always conveniently happened to match his own. "I have no interest in village women," he assured him. Of course that was minus one young woman who was so close to him now and yet outside of his reach. He would have to find a way to see her. He needed to see those eyes and that smile light up her beautiful features for him.

At that moment, Eumolpus entered with a potion in hand, and Aeneas immediately frowned at the sight. "My lord, you must drink this."

"When will I be through with these?" the demi-god asked irritably.

"A few more days. It will help you regain your strength and stave off infection."

"How can something so foul be of any aid to me?" he grumbled as he took the cup, tilted his head back, and drank it all in one attempt. The grimace of pure disgust on his face once he finished the cup caused Hector to laugh heartily, but the demi-god looked less than amused. "So tell me, cousin. What did I miss at this grand meeting your father called?"

"It has been decided that we will lead several contingents of Troy's army south to guard the border from the uprising," Hector answered with his good humor dissipating. "If they flee north, they may keep along the Gulf of Adramyttium and push through the forests south of Mount Ida, but they could attempt to stay east to avoid Mount Ida entirely. Should they choose the latter, we'll need you to keep an eye out in the northern lands for any ill effects they might cause. We expect them to hit Pedasus first, but it is difficult to foresee. These are common folk, not soldiers. They do not act rationally."

"I will warn some of our surrounding villages. That is easily managed," Aeneas assured him. "Do you not need any of Dardania's soldiers to join you in southern Troad?"

"We don't anticipate it. It should not take much to quell this fire."

"And how will you defeat them?" Hector's brow knit to show he wasn't following since the answer seemed far too obvious. Aeneas explained, "Will you slay them all?"

The Trojan prince thought for a moment and admitted, "I hope it does not come to that. Perhaps we can merely force them south again."

"And let Eetion's men do the slaughtering."

Though he hid it well, it was a thought that concerned the prince. True, these people needed to be shown that their violent behavior would not be tolerated, and that Troy's forces would do what was necessary to protect its people; but there was no sport in killing common people. "Have your men begun preparing for the journey?"

"Yes, they'll be grateful to finally enjoy Trojan hospitality. They've grown tired of sleeping on the grounds outside."

"They will be taken care of," Hector assured him and stood from his chair. "I'll see that the preparations are being carried out. Eumolpus," he said and turned to the old healer, "help ready him. We should leave as soon as we can. We'll need to reach Troy before night fall."

"Yes, my lord."

With that, Hector abandoned the room and headed out of the home and toward the space where his guards were helping the Dardanians load their supplies. His eyes considered the house where Myrina lived, but as before, he couldn't catch sight of her. Was she hiding from him? He only wanted a glimpse for now, but she did not show her face despite his wordless calls. Reluctantly, he surrendered for the time being and addressed the guards to be sure they were acting with haste. The preparations were nearly finished, and he instructed them to be ready since they would be leaving soon. When he returned to fetch Aeneas, he glanced at the home and quickly looked once more. There she stood in the doorway as though she had come to his beckoning. Myrina smiled shyly as their gazes locked, but she glanced back to where the guards were gathered, silently explaining why she didn't approach him. Hector understood and nodded gently, acknowledging he was pleased to at least have seen her. She smiled slightly wider and disappeared back within the home. Something in the back of his mind told him to follow after her, to steal a moment with her away from prying eyes, but he couldn't spare any time. He would no doubt lose himself with her as he always did.

Thus, he returned to the house only to realize things had gone terribly wrong while he was away. He heard the alarmed voices, and the distinct sounds of someone heaving from the back room. He rushed down the hallway and saw his cousin doubled over a pot, vomiting from his toes all the way through his head.

Eumolpus warned, "Restrain yourself! You'll tear your stitches out!"

"You've poisoned me!" Aeneas accused through gasps of air, but within seconds, another wave overcame him.

"What has happened?" Hector asked from the doorway with a deep frown of concern.

"The potion, my lord," Eumolpus began before admonishing Aeneas again, "Not so hard! Your side!" The demi-god shot him a horrendous glare when he was able to straighten up slightly for air.

"What of the potion? You said it would help him," Hector pressed.

"It is my fault, my lord," the young woman of the house admitted, and she looked near tears at this realization. "He asked if I would assemble the ingredients, and I fear I grabbed the wrong plant."

"Treason," Aeneas growled out between waves.

"I would not!" she cried out, and her face immediately drained of all color at the accusation.

"Peace," Hector calmed her, believing it was truly a mistake on her part. "Show Eumolpus what you used. Be sure the combination is not lethal. I will stay with him." Without hesitation, the two left, and Hector approached his cousin who by this time had nothing left in his stomach. Still, he could not seem to stop, and a white foamy liquid was all that he could offer. "Be wary," the Trojan prince warned, referencing his wound. He grumbled beneath his breath as he realized they could not bring Aeneas to Troy now that he was sick. Had he ridden out to the village for no reason? Though he realized it was an accident that could not be helped, he was perturbed all the same.

Eumolpus arrived moments later with a plant in hand. "You must chew on this. It will ease the nausea." Aeneas waved it away with a noisy groan of disapproval.

"What of the potion?" Hector asked.

"A harmless mistake," the old man assured him. "The combination will make him sick, but it will not harm him further." He held out the plant to the Dardanian prince once more, but Aeneas would have none of it.

At length, Hector warned, "You're behaving like a woman. Do as he says." That insult seemed to sober Aeneas up slightly if only because it called on his ego, and he glared at his friend as he grabbed the plant and began chewing on it. Hector returned his attention to the healer and said, "We cannot ride today."

"Not with him like this, my lord," Eumolpus agreed, "but he should be well by morning."

Hector rubbed a hand across his face as he realized he would need to return to Troy and ride here once more. "I suppose I will return again tomorrow," he decided, and his irritation at the prospect was evident.

"My lord," the woman spoke up cautiously, and Hector considered her with a neutral gaze. "My husband's father has a spare room. You could remain for the night and leave in the morning if you desire."

The prince's face relaxed somewhat as he thought over the proposal, but he admitted, "I would be grateful if he would have me."

"Of course, my lord," she said. "He would be honored."

"Very well," Hector agreed then and returned his attention to his cousin who for the moment seemed too exhausted to continue vomiting. "You can never make things easy," the Trojan commented with a smirk. In response, Aeneas grimaced in simultaneous pain, annoyance, and disgust. When one of his guards came to alert Hector that they were ready, the prince told them they would be staying for the night and ride to Troy in the morning. For the remaining of the afternoon, Hector split his time between Aeneas' room and outside with his guards. The woman had gathered some blankets and other supplies for them, and she seemed to be attempting to make up for her mistake with the Dardanian prince by attending to the men's every need. In the evening, she brought them all bowls of soup for supper, and Aeneas was well enough to eat some without a word about her attempting to poison him this time.

"My lord, I will show you where you can stay when you are ready," she said to Hector, and the prince nodded to acknowledge the offer before returning his attention to his cousin.

"Could you try not to die during the night? I would be aggravated if I rode here for no reason," he taunted with a grin.

"The gods willing," Aeneas grumbled irritably in reply which only made Hector chuckle.

"Rest, my friend. I'll see you in the morning," he said and turned to follow the young woman out of the house and across the village. They did not speak a word along the short journey, but Hector was comfortable with the silence. He scanned the village where preparations for night were taking place, but he straightened to attention as he recognized the path they were taking. He singled out Myrina's home and grew more and more curious as they approached closer. Her brother had gotten married recently. At the thought, his eyes considered the woman in the front of him with new interest. Was this his bride? Surely this was only a coincidence. It seemed too fortuitous to be true, but as he had suspected, they approached the house and entered the gate. His heart beat excitedly in his chest at the prospect of staying so close to his dear friend and finally meeting her family. Fate worked in bizarre ways, bringing them together time and time again. The pair stepped into the home, and Isidora was the first person they encountered. She looked absolutely furious, and the prince didn't hesitate to grin wolfishly at her from behind the young woman.

She seemed annoyed that no one else met them and asked, "Where are they?"

"Come," the servant said and sighed beneath her breath as she led them further into the home.

An older man who was no doubt Myrina's father met them in the hallway and bowed to the prince. "This is my husband's father, Diokles," the young woman introduced.

"My lord, we are honored to keep you for the night," Diokles said.

"I'm grateful for your hospitality," Hector returned kindly, smiling to himself as he saw the resemblance between her brother and father, but her features were more pointed and delicate. He realized then that she must take after her mother, and he was slightly remiss at that time for some reason that he had never met the woman. Laughter trailed down the hall, and he immediately recognized its familiar ring. Why had she not come to greet him?

Myrina stepped around the corner at that moment and called back over her shoulder, "Alkaios, do not touch that, or I will gut you!" Her father cleared his throat loudly in alarm, and she turned with a shocked expression to see the group gathered in the hallway. Clearly her family was mortified that she had called out such a thing in front of the prince even if it was unwittingly, but they did not take the time to notice that Hector was grinning broadly at his friend and the unintended show of her anger. Myrina struggled to keep a straight face and quickly ducked her head to keep from bursting into laughter when she noted Hector's expression.

"This is my daughter, Myrina," Diokles said, and Myrina found herself shifting uncomfortably as they were forced to be introduced formally. She was grateful then when Alkaios followed her out of the kitchen and drew the attention away from her, so she could slip away down the hallway and finish preparing his bed with clean sheets.

Hector was left to politely engage her family who nearly bent over backwards if he even gave the slightest inclination he might need something, and he was simultaneously amused and flattered by their generosity toward him. It was interesting for him to gauge her father and brother's personalities, and he found himself wondering about their family dynamic. Judging by the way Myrina had snapped at her brother earlier, he assumed that their relationship was rather typical of siblings. They were embarrassed by her display, but at the same time, they didn't appear all that surprised by it. Perhaps they were accepting of her fiery spirit, and he smiled to himself at the thought. He would like to think so, and maybe he would remember to ask her about it later. It was difficult for him when Myrina returned not to follow her every movement with his eyes and to appear oblivious as to her whereabouts, but at every moment since his arrival, he knew precisely where she was and looked forward to each glimpse he caught of her. There was something exciting about their secret lining his public encounter at her house, and he enjoyed catching her eye when he could and wordlessly acknowledging their mutual confidence.

When night had officially fallen, he was shown his room with a small bed and minimal furnishings, but he had no need to complain about it. He considered everything with interest since he had never been shown these parts of the house during his days with Myrina. The simple fact that these were the halls and rooms she walked through each day intrigued him as if he were getting a whole other glimpse into her life, and he enjoyed it with open curiosity, inspecting everything within the room before settling onto the bed. It was not nearly as large or comfortable as his bed at the palace, but it was certainly better than the cot he slept in while at war. With a sigh, he lay back and cupped his head in his hands.

The prince was unable to fall sleep immediately and instead stared up at the ceiling with a distant look in his eyes while mulling over various topics. One in particular that had been ruling his thoughts was a certain young woman. As if on cue, the door cracked, and Hector sat up suspiciously and reached for his dagger. However, he relaxed somewhat when he saw Myrina slip through the narrow space. She placed a finger to her lips to quiet him though he was well aware they could not be loud, else someone in the house find them. It was very inappropriate for her to be visiting him at night in his borrowed bedchambers, but he had often fallen victim to unbecoming things when in her presence. As a young man, it was innocently chasing after her or visiting her. Now that he was older, however, his thoughts had taken a far more dangerous turn.

Naively she approached him, and her bare feet didn't make a sound on the floor. She silently sat on the edge of the bed, and he scolded, "You should not be here." In reality, he was excited by her presence –excited in a manner that was not at all proper.

She placed her finger to her lips once more to remind him to keep his voice low, and he apparently had spoken louder than he had intended. She paused to listen to the silence until she was satisfied that his loud whisper had alerted no one to their meeting. "My father does not know of our friendship."

He smirked gently and lifted his brow as he sarcastically teased in a much softer voice, "I hadn't noticed." Her blue-green eyes narrowed when she realized he was taunting her as usual, but he continued, "How did you explain the necklace?" When he had brought it back to her from Greece, he hadn't necessarily considered how she would explain the its origins. It wasn't becoming to accept gifts from a man when they were not courting –especially when said man was the crown prince of Troy.

At the mention, she touched the necklace, and her fingertips idly caressed the delicate shells. "I said I bought it at the market."

He nodded. It was a fair lie though he wondered briefly if her father had been upset with her. Such a piece of jewelry would not be inexpensive in Troy, but he had too kind of manners to ask. She wet her lips then, and his attention was brought to the full, soft skin he had been unable to resist over a week earlier. He withheld the desire to reach for her and commented softly, "Your father and brother are kind."

"My father, yes," she agreed, "but Alkaios is a thorn in my side." Hector chuckled lightly in response but quieted when she shot him a warning look. "Why have you been gone so long?"

"I have been busy," he answered apologetically and wondered if he should admit it now rather than later. At length, he added, "I may not see you for awhile."

"Why?"

"I have been called to the southern border. I do not know how long I'll be there."

"Has something happened?"

"Not yet, but it may. We are taking precautions. There may be no need for our presence, and we'll return."

"But you do not think so," she guessed as she noted the tone in his voice.

Hector shrugged and confessed, "I cannot be sure."

Myrina was quiet for a moment and bowed her head thoughtfully, causing the loose curls to fall across her features. He hadn't noticed until then that her hair was free of the pin she normally wore, and the dusky brown locks fell across her narrow shoulders unhindered. Without hesitation, he reached out to tuck a piece behind her ear so that he could clearly see her delicate jawline and cheekbone. His fingers lingered on the soft skin, and she pressed her face gently against his touch while peering up at him through her lashes. "I am glad I came to see you," she said.

One corner of his lips lifted in a partial smile, and he agreed, "As am I."

Her gaze dropped then to consider her hands which were currently wringing absently in her lap and betraying her anxiety, and Hector drew his thumb along her cheek and coaxed, "What bothers you?"

At his question, her blue-green orbs turned up once more to look at his face intently. "Why did you stop me the other day?"

He let out a soft sigh of guilt and had hoped she wouldn't ask such a thing. He shouldn't have been surprised though that she did, but he had wished she understood his purpose. Her innocence and naivety were what had endeared him to her in the first place. Being a prince, it was difficult to find true friends who didn't care about his crown or title. She was so earnest and innocent that he always knew he could trust that she cared about him for the manner of his character; but at this moment, it was her crux, and he wished she could shed it and see his true feelings. He realized that silent minutes had passed, and he returned, "Do you not know?"

She shifted uncomfortably, and her hands continued wringing nervously. The words had been burning a hole in her mind, and she forced them out of her lips, "You said you care for me."

"Yes," he answered earnestly though he wasn't certain if they were discussing the same amount of emotion.

Her mind was thinking the exact same thing, and she pressed, "As a friend… and nothing more?"

He smiled then and cupped her chin, forcing her to lift her face and look at him. So she did know, and her naïve ignorance was an act. It pleased him greatly, and he eagerly sought to assure her without a trace of fear, "As far more."

Her eyes widened which made him smile broader, but an uncertainty settled into his gut with the admission. How would she respond now? Myrina took the hand at her chin between both her hands and held it tenderly. "Yet you stopped me." She couldn't seem to say the words and danced around them without voicing them for fear of overstepping her place and making a fool out of herself.

His brow knit slightly, and he admitted, "I don't understand what you're asking me."

Seeing her shift shyly before him, her eyes lined with uncertainty, her body tense as she searched for the proper words, he wondered if she were excited or nervous. "Do you not find me attractive?"

The question only confused him further, and he struggled to see her intent. It was irritating him, and he finally commanded, "Say what you are thinking."

She took a steadying breath and asked, "Do you not wish to do more with me than kiss me?"

The question hit him like a punch to the gut and knocked all the air out of his lungs as his chestnut eyes widened in surprise. When he finally composed himself, he wondered cautiously, "Are you asking me...?" Here this man felt like he was thirteen again, unexperienced with women, and unsure how to act.

Finally her gaze met his, and she looked annoyed and frustrated all of a sudden. She searched his eyes for a moment as though they held the answer she was looking for, but she didn't seem satisfied with what they held. Without warning, she took his face, bent forward, and pressed her mouth onto his, and he tensed at the unexpected contact. It was only for a moment though, and then his hands shifted until his fingers curled around the back of her neck. He held her tenderly to him, and the close contact and feel of his kiss made her heart race faster than a hummingbird's wings. It was what she had been longing for, and it was possibly even more enjoyable than the first time. Once she grew more comfortable with their proximity and what her lips were doing, she became more confident. After a momentary hesitation to gather her nerves, she shifted her seating closer to him until her body was nearly pressed against his own. In response, his hands fell from her neck, and he coaxed her easily into his arms, tightening his grip around her slender frame until there was no space between them. Her arms wrapped about his neck to give them a purpose and to lock Hector's warm form against her own.

At that moment, the prince lay down, taking Myrina with him, and they were soon lying side by side and wrapped in each other's arms. The position with her arms around him was slightly awkward, but she wouldn't dare release him for any reason. His lips spoke of his impatience and moved with more urgency. She clumsily sought to keep up with him, but her participation didn't seem to matter as much anymore. He would kiss her whether or not she matched his pace or even returned it, and his grip around her tightened further, flattening her completely against him. One of his hands reached up to pull the hair from where it fell across her neck, and his mouth eagerly kissed the newly exposed surface. Myrina gasped at the contact, and the contrast between his soft lips and the rough bristle of his beard on her throat sent chills all over her skin. Somewhere beyond her control, her spine arched to express her pleasure at the feeling, and her eyes closed to focus on it completely. His hand then took her top leg and forced it around his waist to draw her closer to him, and he traced the line of her slender leg from her ankle and up past her knee. As he drew closer to her hip, his hand slowed, and with every inch that he continued, Myrina's heart beat faster. The warmth from her excitement was still evident, but it was shifting like the tide to reveal some new appetite that the young woman never knew was within her before he came into her life. Hector coaxed it out with all the expertise of a lover, and she was defenseless in his hands so long as he kept kissing away her will. It was exactly what she wanted.

The moment, however, that his hand reached her upper thigh, she tensed, and considering the lack of space between them, Hector naturally noticed. He likewise stiffened and pulled back as he slowly regained his senses. It felt as though he was pushing through the fog of his way back into a conscious state. Her kiss had awoken something in him, and he sought to quell it without truly even realizing what he was doing. Now he noticed his hand's position on her leg and felt guilty for moving so swiftly with her despite whatever she may have hinted at earlier. Without hesitation, he took the material of her dress and guided it over her leg until the hem fell modestly about her ankle. "We shouldn't," he whispered earnestly and hoped she would not be too angry with him.

Myrina's heart beat wildly in her chest, and she barely recognized his words. She hadn't tensed because his touch was unwelcome. No, it had been the complete opposite. His palm on her skin stirred this fire deep in her abdomen that she didn't quite understand, and she had tensed at the unexpected feeling. As she became accustomed to it, she realized it was pleasure and desire all at once. Rather than acknowledging his warning, she took his hand and placed it her ankle. Her turquoise eyes bore into his as she guided it up her calf, over her knee, and up her thigh with the flimsy material of her dress easily gathering in front of their joined hands. She released his hand once it was placed where it had been when he stopped earlier, and she whispered as if her actions did not speak loudly enough, "I want you to." The admission unleashed him, and without another word, his mouth was on hers once more. She became aware of the hunger behind his kiss because she felt it within herself as well. His hand moved further up her leg, over the gentle slope of her hip, and up her side until the material of her gown was bunched at her waist, revealing the long uninterrupted line of her leg. He ran his hand along it once more and reveled in the feeling of her smooth skin beneath him. Though he wanted nothing more than to slip his hand under the curve of her backside and explore her completely, he restrained that need for the time being. There was still some part of him that was restraining himself, but it was growing weaker and weaker by the second. His hand cupped her hip, and he rubbed his thumb gingerly across her delicate hipbone where it was nestled at the start of her leg.

His actions spurred her own and her boldness grew along with the untamable fire in her stomach. Timidly at first, she released her top arm from around Hector and placed her palm on his chest, feeling his erratic breathing and frantic pulse through the thin material. Knowing that he was as excited by their actions as she was, she gathered the nerve to tuck her fingertips under his shirt and ran them across the unknown expanse of his chest. When he did not stiffen or stop her, she slipped her hand under the material completely and relished in the feel of his taut muscles beneath her. They flexed and released with the waves of want rolling through him, practically quivering beneath her slender fingers. With her eyes closed and her mouth still preoccupied with his, she etched every perfect line of his chest into her memory, admiring their feel and the smooth skin stretched over them. Without realizing it, her hand had moved lower toward his abdomen, and this seemed to please him even more. In response, his hand abandoned its innocent position on her hip and moved beneath the fabric of her dress above her waist. Her heart skipped a beat when she felt his hand cup her breast and run his fingers across it. She had never felt another's touch on such an intimate place, and she moaned gently against his lips at the sensation it sent down her spine.

Immediately, his mouth was on her neck again, moving lower down the line of her throat, and her heart fluttered nervously about when his warm breath trickled across her collarbone. Instinctively, her back arched to meet his soft lips while his hand left her breast and forced the shoulder of her dress down her arm to reveal the slope hidden beneath. She gnawed nervously at her lip, feeling exposed before him, and she tensed in a mixture of excitement, anticipation, and slight fear. She knew that she should stop him. This was not something they should be doing however badly she wanted it, and they certainly shouldn't be doing it in her house with her brother and father asleep but a few feet away. Despite all these warnings flashing through her mind, she didn't dare open her mouth to speak a word of protest. The moment his lips met the sensitive skin of her breast, she lost all will to stop him, and she was unable to even formulate a single coherent thought. Once more, with his mere touch, he had rendered her defenseless, and she clenched her eyes closed at the new sensation. He had lifted his body from the bed by that time to hover over her, and she whimpered softly under the waves of ecstasy rolling through her when his teeth gripped the skin lightly. Her fingers tangled in his dark curls, and she worried at her lip to keep any more sounds of her approval at bay lest they wake someone. He practically devoured the area, kissing every inch of the soft skin that he could. His lips fell around the bud, and he sucked it into his mouth and teased on it lightly with his teeth. Her back arched with more force at the feeling, and she moaned against her clenched teeth. He wrapped an arm beneath the arch and drew her closer, pulling her body against him. Her hands gripped his hair tighter, and he peered up at her to see her full lips parted in ecstasy for him.

His mouth was on hers once more, and she kissed him with all the passion he had stirred up within her slender form. He took his time tasting her, savoring her sweetness as he drew his tongue along her lips. She wanted to give him as much pleasure as he granted her, but she had no skill or prior experience in these matters and was shy from her ignorance. Hector didn't seem to mind. His entire concentration was on her, and if he felt annoyed at her inability to reciprocate his actions, he didn't show it. In fact, the prince knew she was inexperienced, and he was merely enjoying her reaction to him as his hands and mouth touched her in places none had ever been. He received enough pleasure from that to satisfy him for now, but he was not nearly through with her.

With a new wave of confidence and desire, she untied the lacing at the front of his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders. He helped her remove it and rolled over afterward so that she was straddling his waist. Immediately he forced the other shoulder of her dress down her arm, and her bare breasts met the naked skin of his chest. Her heart beat wildly in her chest, and the sensation pushed her to another level entirely. Hector's hands cupped her hips and pulled her down on top of the evidence of his desire for her. She stiffened at the feeling which was foreign to her, and he smiled gently against her lips, drawing her along his length to be sure she acknowledged the effect she had on him. She whimpered softly at the pressure between them, and that tempting sound of virginal pleasure nearly drove him crazy.

He sat up suddenly, taking her with him, and he wrapped an arm around her bare back, pulling them firmly together once more. A thin layer of sweat covered their forms and made her skin slightly slick against his. Her curls fell over his arm as she tilted her head back to look up at him. Gravity had pulled her dress down to settle in her lap, and he gave himself a moment to catch his breath before he ripped her to shreds with his hands. He forced himself to focus on her narrow frame pressed against him, her large, trusting eyes gazing up at him, and the full lips parted slightly from her shaky breathing. He forced himself to acknowledge how easily he could hurt her, and it steadied him momentarily. "What do you want?" he whispered and cupped her cheek with his free hand. He needed to hear her say it before he allowed himself to continue any further.

Without his lips pressed against hers, Myrina became aware of how swollen hers were from their kissing. The blood pulsed softly within them, teasing her with each beat of her heart, and her attention was drawn to a similar feeling somewhere far more intimate. She swallowed heavily, but her gaze didn't leave his as she murmured in a voice hoarse with desire, "I want you."

The answer caused him to subtly quake, and he pressed, "How?"

"I don't know," she admitted in barely a whisper.

It left him uncertain how to continue, but all at once, he offered, "I can please you more." He knew he shouldn't be taunting himself so. Beyond that, he shouldn't be tainting her innocence, but his desire for her had shaken him from all reason. Suddenly, it felt as if he had known all those long years that she would be his, and now he could not wait another second.

"I have never…" she acknowledged coyly though there was no doubt in her mind Hector was already aware of this fact. She merely stated it because she didn't know what else to say.

"I won't," he assured her. No, he wouldn't take her so carelessly and callously when they were not even properly courting one another though men weaker than himself no doubt would. In fact, there was something evil in the back of his mind that coaxed him onward to fulfill his dark desire. The prince resisted it with every ounce of will power he had and clarified, "You are not mine." His mind added hopefully, 'yet.' He wasn't certain who his words were intended for: her or him.

"What do you wish of me?" she asked with a hint of her naïve confusion lacing the words. She was not aware that there was anything beyond relations between a man and woman. If he did not intend that, then what other option was there?

"I can show you," he murmured gently, "if you'll allow it." His voice was tender though saturated with lust and his eyes warm. Peering up into his face, she recognized her trust in him, but her voice failed her. Instead, she curtly nodded her head and held her breath as she wondered what he would do. The prince lay down on the bed once more and took her into his arms, and once they were settled, his hands began drawing the material of her dress fully up her legs. Immediately, she crossed her legs out of modesty, and he chuckled softly and nuzzled his cheek against her neck. "You don't need to be shy with me." Still, she didn't release the tension between her legs, and he used the arm wrapped beneath her to hold the material in place at her waist while his other hand gently caressed her thighs. His calloused fingertips on her sensitive skin left liquid fire in their wake, and her poor heart struggled to maintain its incessantly swift pace beneath her chest.

"Hector," she whispered uncertainly as his fingers moved to the valley between her legs where they were clenched together.

He trailed tender kisses across her neck, causing her to elicit a sigh of pleasure at the feel. "I would never hurt you." The warm breath of his words brushed across her ear, and he nibbled lightly at her lobe while coaxing her legs apart with his hand. "I will stop if you ask me," he promised, but his fingers were far too convincing for any objections. Myrina found her body reacting beyond her control, and her legs parted without much hesitation for him. He coaxed her top leg to rest around his waist once more and kissed her lips gently, distracting her as he reached between them. The minute he drew his fingers along the intimate folds between her legs, she tensed at the foreign touch on her. It both excited her and left her fearful. In response, his mouth was on her neck and cheek to calm her anxiety, but his fingers continued exploring the area without pause. He was pleased with her response to him, and feeling her slippery with her want nearly made him groan out of his own desire. For that moment, however, it wasn't about him, and he wanted to enlighten her as to the pleasure that could be had from his touch. His movements were slow, but he increased his pressure. Myrina gasped at the sensation and writhed slightly against him. She didn't recognize the way he touched her, but she couldn't deny the shock of intense pleasure rolling through her.

"Hector," she mumbled breathlessly against his kiss somewhere between a whisper and a moan. He loved hearing his name fall from her lips, and he applied more pressure as his movement took on a familiar pace. He only allowed himself to explore what was immediately available to him, no matter how much he wanted to feel her fully, but it would be enough this time. Without purposely realizing it, the prince had noted there would be more lessons to come. There were many things he could teach her, and his desire was situated solely on her. Aeneas had made a comment once that Hector preferred woman with brown hair and light eyes, and it wasn't until his cousin pointed it out that he even noticed it. Subconsciously, he had always wanted her, and he wouldn't be satisfied until he had his fill of her. He wouldn't dare consummate fully yet out of his respect for her, but he yearned for her with more passion than he had granted anything in his life.

Her body quivered beneath his touch, and it moved beyond her control: arching her spine one moment, twisting her hips the next, writhing in pleasure beside him. The arm around her waist held her firmly to him while his other hand continued coaxing wave after wave of ecstasy to consume her, and something tightened deep within her abdomen, begging for release. She moaned loudly at the sensation, and he swiftly reminded her, "You must be quiet." But truthfully he loved that he was pushing her beyond her limits. In response to his words, she bit her lip and peered up at him with lust filled eyes. He realized her current lack of control meant he was drawing her closer, and he attacked her with more fervor. He lifted his chest up slightly, and his teeth nibbled at the tender skin of her neck. Her hand reached out for something to steady herself against the raw, consuming feeling, and she gripped his shoulder and dug her nails carelessly into his skin. The anticipation of some unknown arrival had her grinding her hips against his touch, and he kissed her deeply, allowing his tongue to roam within the warm confines while his pace increased further. All at once, she pressed her lips harder on his to quiet the moan as a tidal wave of ultimate pleasure and satisfaction crashed recklessly through her. Without meaning to, she had drawn blood from her nails digging into his skin, and she whimpered softly as the last waves shuddered through her. She stilled against him, exhausted in its wake, and he removed his hand from between her legs. She self-consciously moved her head away and tilted it back to see him smiling gently at her. His lips were tender and gentle when they covered her own once more though what he really wanted to do was force her on her back, tear off the material at his waist, and have his way fully with her. Years of discipline made him mask that need though his eyes were still heavy with desire.

"Go to bed," he commanded gently while his mind finished, 'before I ravage you completely.' Something about her innocence made him insatiable for her. He loved knowing that he was the only man to have made her feel this way, and he wanted to be certain he was the first and only man to touch her in such a manner. She slipped the shoulders of her dress back to their appropriate position and sat up with her back to him. She was unsure how she was supposed to feel in the wake of what they had just done, but she knew she wanted to be near him. She felt safe beside him, and his actions only moments prior had left her vulnerable. Instead, he was sending her away, but she knew it was for the best. They couldn't spare anymore time together for it was another moment that someone could notice she was absent from her room or that they were together doing incredibly inappropriate things in the night.

Hector sat up as well behind her, ignoring the tightening in his form from his lack of release, and he bent forward to brush his lips across her shoulder. She was quiet and withdrawn, and he hoped he hadn't forced her. "Are you upset with me?"

She shook her head slightly and considered him over her shoulder while she wondered how to voice her complicated emotions. Finally, she settled for, "I've never felt like this."

One of his hands rubbed her arm comfortingly, and he realized how blind his desire had made him. He had wanted to make her happy and please her, but he hadn't considered how she would feel about his actions afterward. The uncertain, vulnerable look on her face robbed him of his desire in an instant, and all at once, sour, uncomfortable guilt filled the void left by his need. He murmured, "I should not have-"

She turned unexpectedly, and her fingers covered his lips before he could finish the thought as she peered earnestly into his eyes. "I wanted it," she clarified to rid him of any guilt he might be feeling.

He removed her hand from his lips, held it tightly in his own, and sought to assure her that he had not been using her by reminding her, "I care for you. I would not dishonor you." She nodded numbly with her gaze dropping to the floor, but she remained by his side without moving. He sought some way to ease her and decided, "Come here." He took her elbow and guided her by his side as he lay back down on the bed. She fit into the crook of his arm, and he drew her against him. She nestled her face between his shoulder and chest and relaxed as they stilled, and she listened to the echo of his steady heartbeat beneath his chest. Gently, her head was lifted as his chest rose and fell with his breath, and his fingers absentmindedly drew circles on her arm as he stared at the ceiling. For once, he didn't think about anything. Nothing whatsoever. There was no awkwardness, no repulsion by her presence, no anxiety about what he had to do tomorrow, no voice warning him against allowing his eyes to close. It was pure, uninterrupted, peaceful silence for him, and after awhile, he turned his head to rest his chin on top of the crown of her head.

It seemed like an eternity of blissful consciousness later that she murmured against his skin, "I can't stay here." She didn't move a muscle.

Likewise, he nestled his chin a little deeper into her curls and inhaled deeply. It was interesting deciphering her scent because it impacted his senses in a way completely separate from aroma. Breathing in, she smelled like an afternoon on a warm, summer's day spent in the plains with the golden wheat moving in the breeze and the bright blue sky stretched out endlessly overhead. With his eyes closed, it was the picture that came to his mind, and it appeared so vividly to him, he could almost feel the sun kissing his skin, the wind moving his curls across his face, and the feel of the wheat around him. He had never experienced anything like that before, and he promised, "I will wake you before dawn." He didn't know why he wanted her to stay even if only for a moment longer. He always enjoyed his space, but now he was drawing her against his side, burying his face into her hair, and reveling in the feel of her with him. He didn't know what to make of it, but her presence kept him too calm to worry about it.

After a moment, however, his reason began annoyingly making itself known and pointing out all the reasons why he should not allow her to remain beside him. 'Someone will notice,' it warned. 'What will they do if they find her with you? You will only cause her trouble. You won't be able to see her again.' He frowned in response and tilted his chin, hiding his eyes within her curls as if he could tuck himself away within her and hide from his own thoughts; but they were in his head, filling him with doubt. At length, he admitted, "You should leave." She didn't answer, and he gently rubbed her arm in a reassuring manner. "We cannot risk someone finding out about us." Still, she did not answer, and she hadn't even budged. His brow knit slightly, and he lifted his head to peer down at her. Those blue-green eyes were hidden away behind her thick lashes, and her every feature was completely relaxed against his chest. Her hand was curled into a loose fist where it rested on his stomach, and she was comfortably wedged up against him so that there was not an inch of space between them from her cheek all the way down to her toes. Her unconscious form disarmed him, and he watched her curiously for he had never seen a woman sleeping beside him before. It was such an odd thing to be doing, observing his friend when she was completely defenseless and trusting beside him, but there was something so private about it.

His arm was going numb beneath her, but he didn't dare move for fear of waking her. He used his free hand to brush the hair back from her face and neck and admired the outline of her narrow form against the black of night fitted perfectly against him. It felt like a dream. She seemed too fragile to him to be real. Carefully, he placed a kiss on the crown of her head and promised once more into her hair, "I will wake you before dawn."

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**Author's Note**: Hey lovies! Well this turned out so much longer than I had originally planned on it being! haha And I didn't think I would update so soon, but this was one of those chapters that was haunting me all day long! It would not let me focus until I got it all out there. Whew!

Thank you Avatar2009, Rosie Cullen-Hale, and AmyLNelson for the oh so lovely reviews! :D Avatar: Omg you're so sweet! Thank you so much haha I'm really glad you liked the chapter, and obviously Hector has not put the pieces together yet that Aeneas is digging on his girl! He'll figure it out in the next chapter though, so yay :) Umm did Hector just cuddle? haha I was not planning on that, but he was like 'yea I'll do it just this once. Don't tell anyone.' I hope you enjoyed this chapter, gorgeous! xoxo Rosie: Your review literally made me laugh out loud. I told my friend what you said about them needing to hook up, and she cracked up too. Ummm well no hooking up yet, but we're closer, yes? Drawing it out is kinda exhausting, but all the sexual tension will just make it that much better when it happens :D Thank you for the review, lovely, and I hope you liked this chapter! Amy: Ooohhh milk AND cookies! I feel like a little kid again :) Aeneas will have his purpose just as Ismene and Andromache and Isidora... everyone will. I have it all planned out (mostly) in my head, and I'm so glad you can't see where I'm going. The surprise will be that much sweeter :D How was this for Hector/Myrina stuff? haha Thanks for the review, doll xoxo


	22. Then Comes The Sun

Chapter 21  
"Then Comes The Sun"

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Recommended Songs: "Fidelity" - Regina Spektor & "Adolescents" - Incubus

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With a slight groan, Hector cautiously shifted his position to ease the tension building in his neck and relaxed his muscles one by one while he settled back against the thin mattress of the bed, but feeling him move had disrupted her as well. The bed was so narrow that anytime either shifted throughout the night, the other was automatically stirred in the process, and he had become accustomed to it. Thus, he waited patiently for her to readjust herself, but she squirmed restlessly beside him for longer than usual. He lazily cracked open one eye and grumbled as he struggled to focus in on her through the blurry fog of his weariness. Her eyes were still closed, alerting him that she was mainly still unconscious; but her brow was knit in frustration, and she was pouting somewhat. Despite himself, he smiled partially at the expression which made her seem so simultaneously childish and charming in her sleep. He noted that the source of her annoyance was his arm which was wedged beneath her ribs. He hadn't realized until then since the limb had long become numb from remaining in the same position for hours. Then he drew her closer to steady her, and he struggled to command his unresponsive muscles and clumsily move the appendage beneath the pillow. Once it was removed, she nestled herself back against him and fell asleep without a moment's hesitation. Yet again, he smiled to himself and tenderly drew his fingers across her jaw, admiring the delicate line in the pale morning light.

'Morning.' All at once, he shot up into a seated position, and his adrenaline immediately began pumping through his veins as his heart picked up its pace. Myrina groaned at the sudden movement which had knocked her back somewhat, and Hector hissed, "Quiet." He then strained to listen for any sounds that might hint that the rest of the house was stirring. 'You fell asleep!' his mind yelled at him. 'You weren't supposed to sleep, you idiot!' There were no sounds to be heard, but that didn't offer him any comfort. He immediately twisted around, grabbed Myrina's bicep, and shook her gently. "Myrina," he said, trying to stay composed despite his sudden wave of anxiety. In response, she frowned deeply, near a pout, but Hector was not amused by it this time. Rather, he shook her with more force. "I know you're awake. Get up," he commanded in a gruff tone.

She grumbled irritably under her breath, and a moment later, her eyes fluttered open with a heavy reluctance weighing them down. The blue-green orbs took some time to focus in the early light, and she mumbled while yawning loudly, "I was having a good dream." In fact, it had been a great dream about a certain tall, dark, and handsome Trojan prince and their encounter in the night. A smile of pure satisfaction curved her full lips upward at the memory, and she stretched from the crown of her head down her spine and out through her toes. Once she settled down, her gaze fell to Hector who was watching her with a frown of disapproval considering how slowly she was moving. Her eyes narrowed in confusion, and she blinked to be sure she was seeing him properly. Wasn't Alkaios waking her? It was not long after that when she realized Hector was naked from the waist up, and her eyes widened as the significance of this seemingly trivial fact hit her with more force than a pile of bricks. It was no innocent dream locked within the confines of her mind. They had... Immediately, her cheeks burned bright red in embarrassment, and she sat up at full attention but was careful to modestly maintain a bit of space between them. "I have to leave. I can't sleep here."

"You've been here all night," the prince commented dryly. "I don't know how long until your family wakes."

"I slept here?" she gasped, but she supposed that would explain the light slipping through the narrow window. Though she was vaguely aware it was morning and had been expecting to awake from her sleep, some part of her poor mind was attempting to reconcile their irrational behavior with a crude bout of denial. No, it was not reality. No, it was not morning. She had just closed her eyes but a few seconds ago. Unfortunately, there was only so much lying she could do to herself, and now she was faced with the bare chested, muscular, bronze, handsome truth. It left her momentarily incapable of speech, but once she was able to command her mouth again, she asked, "Why didn't you wake me?"

Hector sheepishly scratched the back of his head and admitted, "I fell asleep."

"I have to leave," she repeated once more, and her voice was frantic this time. The journey from deep, ignorant sleep to full consciousness was a slow one, and she felt as though her every response were delayed.

"No one is awake yet," he said if only to calm her. It was too early in the morning to deal with her anxious energy. Already, the initial wave of terror and shock had worn off, and he was leaning back against the wall and slowly stretching his muscles from their tensed position. The shoulder of the arm that she had been lying on was particularly sore, and he grimaced while cautiously encouraging the blood to flow back into it. Myrina meant to say something, but she forgot the words while watching the muscles of his chest, abdomen, and arms flex and release beneath the surface with every movement he made. She had never seen him this exposed in front her since she wasn't exactly in her right mind the night before. Even with the scars occasionally interrupting the tan skin, he was so disarmingly handsome to her. Every muscular angle seemed carved out of stone by the most skilled sculptor, and his straight nose, furrowed brow, and strong profile gave him the brooding, pensive expression a god might wear. The overall image entranced her, and she didn't even realize she was staring openly at him while recalling how it felt to draw her fingers along the lines of his chest.

Initially, he didn't notice since he was still listening for any footsteps in the hall, but he felt her gaze soon enough and glanced at her to see her undivided attention directed at him. It was a little unnerving to say the least, and he considered himself to be sure there was nothing amiss with his appearance. Once he was satisfied with that, he turned to her and asked, "What?" The question interrupted her reverie with an abruptness that nearly made her jump, and she looked away while shyly mumbling something about his scars. Her cheeks reddened, however, and Hector smirked to himself, realizing by now why she had been staring at him. Being able to catch her and know that she found him appealing was incredibly gratifying for him. Then her sudden shyness and blushing only made him want to reach for her and let her see any inch of him that she so desired, but they had no time for that. He instead rejoined, "They are each a lesson. I'll never receive the same mark twice." He yawned and added, "And preferably I won't be injured so much in the next war."

"When do you leave?" she wondered quietly, and the slight sadness to her tone was unmistakable.

He recognized she was referring to his journey south, and the drear subject forced him to abandon any thoughts of a repeat performance that morning. Pity. He would have enjoyed seeing her every reaction to him illuminated by the pale light. "A week. Maybe less."

"And you do not know how long you'll be away," she recalled.

"A few months. I doubt it will take any longer," he assured her though he wasn't certain why he felt the need to comfort her.

She smiled sarcastically and finally looked at him. "You said that last time and were gone for three years."

"But I returned," he pointed out. She nodded thoughtfully, but the reminder brought her no satisfaction. For some reason the notion of not seeing him for months made her chest tighten and ache. It was a dull but incessant pain that seized her as she recalled his imminent departure, and furthermore, she acknowledged these were their last moments together. Once they left the confines of this room, they were strangers as far as anyone was concerned and would have to maintain that act. She couldn't laugh with him or take his hand or embrace him when he left or kiss him. She would miss kissing him.

"I must leave," she murmured barely above a whisper. Perhaps she was partly hopeful he wouldn't hear her, and she could pretend she never spoke the words, but Hector rose to his feet. She soon followed suit and smiled up at him in a vain attempt to hide her true feelings. He saw it in her eyes, however, and wanted to reach out for her. He resisted the urge.

"I will see you again when I return," he promised.

"I know."

"Then do not be sad." Finally he placed a hand beneath her chin, cradling it between his thumb and forefinger, and forced her to look up at him. "I'd rather remember you smiling," he teased with a smirk. She smiled though it was half-hearted, but he grinned victoriously. "That is all you can conjure?"

Staring up at his warm eyes, the pain in her chest eased but was replaced with something else she couldn't quite decipher. "I'll miss you," she admitted after a moment.

"You had me for an entire night," he scoffed playfully. "Not many women are granted that honor."

"Honor?" she rejoined with a dubious look. "You take up the entire bed. It's a wonder I didn't wake up on the floor."

He chuckled and countered, "Any space I had, I had to fight for. You nearly backed me into the wall. You wouldn't allow any distance between us."

"That's not possible. You are twice my size," she said matter-of-factly. "You were the one who wouldn't release me."

"Perhaps I was keeping you from falling off the bed," he suggested with a broad grin.

"I doubt you're so conscious in your sleep."

"How would you know?"

"Because if you were, you wouldn't worry about my falling off the bed," she answered, and her blue-green eyes shone mischievously. The inflection in her voice hinted that the thought was unfinished, and Hector dropped his chin slightly to gaze more intently at her. "You would worry about your snoring."

"I don't snore," he snapped back.

She grinned at the bit of embarrassment lacing his voice, and it was true that he didn't -at least not that she was aware of. Though honestly, she had never slept so soundly in months. She couldn't be bothered to stir from her unconsciousness once during the night, but she almost wished she had. The night together seemed so fleeting now in the morning. She wished she had awoken and been able to have some concrete memory of what it felt like to be beside him. She doubted they would ever have such an opportunity together again. Quickly, she shucked off those thoughts and maintained her act. "How would you know?"

He didn't appreciate her trick, if it were a trick, and he decided to call her bluff, "Because no other woman has complained about it."

The vague hint at the number of women who had been in her position suddenly robbed her of any satisfaction from the encounter. Something that had been unique and new for her was so insignificant to him. Didn't he say the night before, 'You are not mine'? It was true. They didn't belong to one another, and she had no misconceptions about their relationship. Still, that didn't mean she wished to hear about the others. It made her feel similarly infinitesimal: a nameless reference to be used whenever he pleased. Was that what Isidora constantly warned her against? Was that the only fate for a commoner in this sort of a situation with a prince? The further they ventured into this territory, the more disoriented and uncertain she became. Rather than addressing the wave of complicated emotions his seemingly simple retort had instigated, she opted to appear unaffected. "They may be too afraid to tell you."

Admittedly, it was a valid point, and his brow knit slightly as he considered the possibility. Then he remembered that he never allowed women to sleep beside him. The self-consciousness returned, and it was not a feeling he was accustomed to. As usual, she innocently managed to make him feel completely inexperienced, but she was unlike any woman he had ever met. He could never anticipate her responses or actions, and at times it was exciting when she surprised him. At other times, he felt uncertain and guarded. "You never hold your tongue."

"Nor do you."

One corner of his mouth lifted in an incomplete smile, and he reminded her, "You've forbidden my courtesy."

"Because it is not courtesy... It is an act."

"We must have different understandings of the term."

"Why do you say that?"

He bent closer to her as though revealing a secret and grinned. "You've never spent a day at court."

The quip only brought up a new thought: "Is that truly what it's like?" They rarely discussed his life at the palace. At least not in depth, and though she was always curious about it, she never broached the subject since he never offered it in their numerous conversations.

"Worse," he assured her. "But not everyone acts like that, and mainly they only do so toward my father."

"Sometimes I forget that you're a prince." Though there was always this constant acknowledgment of their differences in statuses lingering in the back of her mind, facing him now all she saw was her dearest friend. Hector began to say something, but a door opened down the hallway. Immediately, they both tensed and listened to the footsteps trailing by to determine who it was. It was none other than her father, and her heart raced unsteadily when the man passed by the door. He didn't pause, but he was unusually quiet. Maybe he thought Hector was still asleep and didn't want to disturb him. Once her father had passed, she whispered so low it was almost inaudible, "I must go now."

Hector nodded and walked with her to the door. Rather than letting her leave immediately, he cracked open the door, stuck his head out, and scanned the hallway until he was pleased that her father wouldn't return and that no one else had stirred. "Go," he murmured, and she slipped past him to reach her room. A hand on her wrist stopped her, and with one effort, he pulled her back to him. His mouth covered hers, and she relaxed at the contact which ignited a warmth. It spread from her lips and through the rest of her narrow frame. As soon as the kiss had happened, he straightened again and smiled down at her. "Go."

This time she was more reluctant to turn away from him. The kiss had only stirred her hunger, not quelled it, but they had no time for stolen moments. She began her journey toward her room and nearly cried out when she felt a hand playfully smack her backside. She spun around in horror, and Hector granted her a wolfish grin worthy of his womanizer cousin. When she looked like she might say something, he placed a finger to his lips to remind her to be quiet before he shut the door and retreated within the confines of his room. "Princes," she grumbled under her breath. In her experience, they always behaved however they desired, but she would rather have Hector smack her than Aeneas. Speaking of the caddish demi-god, she could only think how grateful she was that the king sent a healer to look after him. Another day with him, and she might have smothered him with a pillow.

She reached her room and quickly brushed the tangles from her hair before pinning it out of her face. She splashed some water on her face to help wake her and checked her reflection in the mirror. Finally, she finished with a few small touches such as disrupting her perfectly maintained bedding and abandoned the room with a glance back down the hall at Hector's door. As far as she could tell, he hadn't left the room, and then she noted he was probably listening to let her go first. She walked a little louder toward the kitchen where Isidora and her father were greeting the day in their usual fashion. The old servant gave Myrina a nasty look that seemed a bit unwarranted so early in the morning, but her father smiled broadly at her.

"I told you she would be awake in a moment," he said to Isidora. "My Myrina is not so lazy as her brother."

"Has Alkaios not stirred?" she asked with a frown. "I will wake him."

"Let him sleep a while longer." Her father seemed to be in a particular good mood and explained, "We have the prince to tend to this morning."

Myrina nodded and was slightly disappointed to know her father and brother would be lingering around the house longer than usual. That meant she and Hector wouldn't have another chance alone. "What of the Dardanian prince?"

"I was on my way to see Aeton," he commented and kissed Myrina on the crown of her head as he passed by. "I will return soon."

With that, Myrina began attending to her chores, but it was barely a second later that Isidora pushed a cup of some murky liquid toward her. "Drink this," she commanded with venomous disgust lining her voice.

The young woman frowned in confusion and turned toward Isidora. "What is this?"

"We have no room for any bastard children in this house."

All the color drained out of her face, and she was consumed by the most sickening wave of embarrassment and guilt. Once it passed, her anger surfaced, and her cheeks flushed from the fiery emotion. "I am not his whore," she hissed.

"You did not sleep in your bed last night," Isidora said matter-of-factly and pushed the drink toward her yet again. "Do not think me so witless. Now drink this, and that will be the end of it."

"No." Myrina nearly threw daggers with her glare. "We did _not_ do anything."

"Myrina, I realize I may not be able to keep him from visiting you, and I cannot control what you choose to do under the cover of night." Isidora held out the cup to her. "But I will not see you ruin your life for this man."

"You should not speak so poorly of the prince."

"Princes have no one to hold them accountable for their actions. Do you think he would feel the slightest bit of remorse if he discovered you were with child?" With every word, Myrina's anger was doubling or perhaps tripling, and her hands shook as Isidora continued, "No. He would move on to the next commoner who would spread her legs for him."

She was more aware of the crashing sound than of her own movement which precipitated it. At her feet, the cup had shattered, and the murky liquid was spreading out in a thick puddle across the floor. The young woman didn't even spare a moment to see the evidence of her anger on the floor. Her full attention was on the servant, and she warned in a low voice, "You will never speak of him that way again." Isidora's wrinkled features contorted in disapproval and disappointment, but Myrina didn't care. "Clean this. I'll wake Alkaios. He should not sleep so late." Then she turned and stormed down the hallway to her brother's room. Hector still had not left his chambers, and she was grateful he hadn't witnessed the spectacle moments ago. Isidora had no right to speak of him that way, but perhaps the true reason she was so upset by the woman's words was because they filled her with fear. On some level, they resonated too honestly. He had hinted that morning at the other women who had shared his bed, and once more, she wondered if it were only a matter of time until she joined their ranks. She hoped not.

Once Alkaios was awake, Isidora returned to her usual state while Myrina pretended not to notice the old woman's existence. Their father returned soon after, and Hector chose then to emerge from his borrowed room looking as unreadable and neutral as he could. Myrina purposely avoided his gaze and set about her chores with a renewed sense of purpose. She was too afraid of facing him, of facing Isidora's looming threat. Immediately, her father and Hector fell into a conversation concerning trivial things: the sleeping arrangement, Aeneas' health that morning, the imminent ride to Troy, the food, and more. Isidora could not have been more wrong about the Trojan prince, and Myrina smiled to herself as she listened to Hector's discussion with her father. He was kind and polite even when he did not need to be. He was a good man, and Isidora was behaving like a cynical, old hag.

"I should see to my cousin," Hector commented after finishing his morning meal. "I am grateful for your hospitality."

"It was an honor, my lord," Diokles assured him, and with that, the two men left the home to finish the final preparations for the journey.

Alkaios entered a moment later and said, "Myrina, Korina needs your help." The young woman wiped her hands and made her way across the village to her brother's home. She purposely kept her gaze directed toward her destination as she passed by Hector, his guards, and her father. She felt his eyes on her at one point, but she didn't have the courage to meet his gaze in such a public place.

"Myrina!" Korina called when the young woman stepped through the door. "Has Alkaios sent you?"

"Yes, he said you needed my help."

"I do. With the prince and his injury, I am up to my waist in dirty cloth and sheets. Would you take a pile to wash for me, please?"

"Of course. Why did you not ask me sooner?"

"Honestly, I have been so preoccupied with the prince, his men, and the king's healer that I did not realize until now how much there is." She pushed her chocolate brown curls out of her face and placed her hands on her hips with a weary sigh. In a much lower voice, she admitted, "I am grateful for his departure."

The comment seemed normal enough considering the amount of work caring Aeneas had brought Korina, but Myrina feared another reason entirely. "Has he said something to you?" Korina gave her a confused look, and Myrina reluctantly clarified, "Of an improper nature?"

"No, why?"

"I only worry," Myrina lied, "with his reputation."

"No, he was quite well-mannered and kind to me... Though he did say something peculiar the other day."

"What?"

"He knew that I was with child though Aeton and I have not told anyone yet." Luckily the young woman didn't seem to trace the origin back to Myrina.

"Perhaps he could tell," she suggested. Somehow she suspected Korina would not be pleased if she learned Myrina had told the prince.

Korina looked at her abdomen and frowned. "Am I already showing?"

"Not there." Myrina smiled at the woman and explained, "You are glowing."

"I am newly wed," she pointed out. "I should be glowing for that reason."

Myrina wasn't sure how to respond, but Korina finally handed her a basket full of soiled sheets and cloth. "I will return these later today."

"There is no haste," Korina assured her. "Visit me soon. We have not spoken in days."

Myrina smiled at her friend and promised, "I will." With that she took hold of either side of the basket and balanced it against her hip as she set off toward her home with the cargo in tow. By that time, her father had left the group gathered outside, and Aeneas had joined them dressed in a clean pair of robes. She kept her gaze downcast as though she could will herself to turn invisible and not have to face the Dardanian who had a knack for embarrassing her on every possible occasion.

Hector naturally noticed her approach, but he feigned otherwise and turned to face his friend. "Are you ready, cousin?"

Aeneas was not looking at Hector but past him, and a charming smile fell across his handsome features. "In a moment," he murmured distantly. "There is my angel."

Hector cocked a brow in sarcastic interest and looked back over his shoulder to see what woman his cousin was so infatuated with. There was Myrina drawing closer to pass by them, and his gaze moved beyond her to see where the woman was. There was no one else outside their homes, and his heart skipped a beat as his eyes settled on the petite young woman approaching them with a basket in hand. "I do not see her," he lied, praying that her presence and there topic of conversation was merely a coincidence.

"With the basket?" Aeneas clarified. "I should help her."

"Your stitches, cousin," Hector nearly growled and narrowly caught himself.

"I would tear them out myself if it pleased her," he promised with a chuckle and approached the young woman. Hector wanted to follow but stopped himself, wondering if that was something he would normally do or not. He couldn't betray their secret, and at length, he settled for watching them with an unwavering gaze.

Aeneas was still somewhat weak, but he approached her as though he were at full strength and reached out to take the basket from her. Her head snapped up to look at him when she felt him tugging at the basket, but she didn't release her grip. "Let me carry it for you," he suggested with a broad smile.

"I can carry it," she snapped back and moved past him toward her home.

Aeneas didn't surrender so easily and set off after her. "I will forgive you for your anger. I know you are saddened by my departure."

Myrina rolled her eyes and shifted the basket's weight further up her hip while she called over her shoulder, "I will celebrate when I see you riding away."

"I'm flattered." She frowned and glanced back since that was clearly not the response she had expected. This caused Aeneas to grin, and he explained, "That I can bring you joy in any form."

"Is there a reason you are following me? Besides irritating me as much as possible before you leave?"

"I wanted to speak with you... Though the view from here is not so poor either."

Immediately, she spun on her heel to face him at the caddish comment and hid her backside from his sight. "I cannot believe you told my sister you know she is with child," she hissed only because the thought had been bothering her ever since Korina told her.

"I was not aware it was our secret," he admitted, and as usual, the edge to his tone made an appearance to suggest something far more sinister to his thoughts.

"We have no secrets," she spat to be sure she shattered any misconceptions he harbored about her feelings toward him.

"I could change that."

Myrina grimaced in distaste. "Leave me be. Surely there is someone else you can harass."

"Yes, but they are not quite so entertaining as you."

"My loathing entertains you?"

"I would rather you loathe me than feel nothing toward me."

"Does it not exhaust you being so rude and arrogant all the time?" she countered with a narrowed gaze.

Aeneas seemed completely unaffected and grinned. "Rude? I sought you out to thank you." She granted him a dubious look. "I did," he assured her and took hold of the basket, but Myrina still wouldn't release it. "I cannot properly thank you if you don't set this down." His strength overcame her, and he finally tore it from her grip and placed it at their feet. He then took hold of her hand, lifted it, and brushed his lips across her knuckles while looking her in the eye and saying, "I am grateful my mother sent you to me. You saved my life. I will return the favor one day."

Myrina's eyes widened at the display since they were still practically in the middle of the village, and her gaze flickered past Aeneas to see Hector looming in the background with a deep frown of disapproval strewn across his features. He looked ready to strangle Aeneas, and Myrina quickly tore her hand from his grip. "If you wish to repay me, then show me you are well enough to ride to Troy and carry on with your life... away from me."

"I think this has been our most successful conversation yet," he suggested with a satisfied smirk.

"Yes, and now it is over." He didn't move, and she continued with the intent of dismissing him, "You've thanked me."

"And you've insulted me," he countered.

"You deserved it."

"Aeneas!" Hector yelled out and irritably crossed his arms over his chest. "I would like to reach Troy before night fall."

Aeneas turned to grant the Trojan prince a glare. "I will only be a moment longer." When he returned his attention to Myrina, however, the young woman had already grabbed her basket and was hurrying into the confines of her home. The Dardanian prince grumbled to himself and retreated back toward his cousin who was still brooding with a dark gaze. "Jealously does not become you, my friend."

"What have I to be jealous of? She could not flee from you faster," Hector rejoined, but he was still irritated all the same. No good would come of Aeneas' attention, and already he was wondering how to distract his cousin's concentration elsewhere. Somehow he doubted that Aeneas would consider the distance between this village and Dardania an obstacle enough to keep him away, and Hector would be gone for several months. Perhaps he could convince his father that they needed a Dardanian contingent.

"She is a challenge," Aeneas admitted. "She will not give into me."

Hector had to smirk at the irony as he acknowledged how much of her he had gotten but the night before. "Keep to your Dardanian women."

"I saw her first," Aeneas reminded him. "I won't let you steal her from me... Besides I already have competition."

The last comment struck the Trojan prince's interest, and he nonchalantly wondered, "What competition?"

"One of your soldiers," he answered and shook his head in annoyance. "I doubt she would fight me so fiercely were he not on her mind."

"She told you this?" He knew he was asking too many questions, but he was too curious to hold his tongue.

Luckily, Aeneas seemed too consumed by his thoughts to notice his cousin's unusual attention. "Not necessarily, but she wears a necklace he gave her. The women of the Bisaltae tribe make them. It must be a soldier... She says he has never lost a duel."

All at once, Hector's increasing jealousy and anger was swept away as he noted that he was the mysterious soldier. It pleased him even more to know that Myrina had spoken highly of him. "What will you do, cousin?" he asked, and his chestnut eyes shone in amusement.

"I will fight the man if I ever meet him or discover his identity."

"I would be cautious," Hector warned and chuckled beneath his breath.

"Why is that?"

The prince placed a hand on his cousin's shoulder. "Because if I were him, I would not let her go so easily." Hector would never actually wish to fight his cousin, but as he had said, he had no intention of giving up his secret friend -especially not to Aeneas. Once more, he noted that he would find a way to distract the Dardanian prince. "Come. We must ride to Troy."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Hey dolls! I'm so sorry for the delay. This chapter was stubborn. I knew what I wanted to happen, but it did not want to be written… Not to mention I've had the finals from hell. I had a computational linguistics one on Friday that I think took a piece of my soul with it. My last one was yesterday, but it was philosophy of the scientific method (yea it was the dumbest, hardest class ever). Needless to say, too many sleepless nights, stressing, and not enough nourishment so maybe my muse went on strike. But now, I get to relax and write whenever the heck I please… Yay! I promise I won't take so long :)

Thank you so, so, so much to Rosie Cullen-Hale, Avatar2009, KawaiiHawaiian, and AmyLNelson for the super sweet reviews! I've recently decided you all deserve your own paragraphs, thus….

Rosie: Bowchicawowow…. Baby making music? No? Oh ok… haha Omg the thing about Aeneas acting like the Wicked Witch of the West was fantastic. It's going to be awhile before he finds out about Myrina & Hector, BUT if things go the way I'm planning on them going, he's basically gunna freak and probably internally melt a la Wicked Witch hahaha Thanks for the review and feedback, and I hope you liked this chapter! xoxo

Avatar: Was this what you hoped for? With Hector being all like defensive, subliminally "back the fuck off" haha And Aeneas will stick around for the rest of the story. He kinda comes in and out of the plot line, but he's always around and will have a big part later on :) I've got quite a bit of ground to cover still before I reveal Aeneas' true purpose in the story (suspense?) haha I hope you liked this chapter, gorgeous! :D

Kawaii: Hey dialogue junkie! ;) I hope everything is going well with you, and thanks for the sweet review as always. I hope you liked this chapter! xoxo

Amy: Awww I'm glad you liked it. I wasn't inititally planning on the ending happening, but it kinda just did. And since Hector's about to go off to the south for a while, I thought it would be a nice little thing between the two. It's funny cause in my head I still kinda see them approaching this as more like "friends with benefits". Like Myrina's obviously kinda falling for him, but he's still being a typical guy and fighting it. And it's kinda why he's not sure if he wants to have sex with her. Since she's a virgin, he feels like it would be too personal and push things too far, and he's just not ready for that kind of a relationship or commitment. But he's growing and not even realizing it. Soooo I hope you liked this chapter, doll! :D


	23. Search & Destroy

Chapter 22  
"Search & Destroy"

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Recommended Songs: "Wish You Were Here" – Incubus & "Oblivion" – 30 Seconds To Mars

* * *

It had been over a week since Hector and Aeneas had returned to Troy, and now the two princes were seated beside one another in Altes' throne room in Pedasus. The journey had taken them longer than they had anticipated since Cycnus had delayed them in Kolonai for three days, but they finally reached their destination. Accompanying them to the southern border were Euryalus, Glaucus, a contingent of one hundred foot soldiers –both Trojan and Dardanian, about seventy archers, and thirty cavalrymen. It was more than Altes had anticipated, and the increased numbers came from Dardania since Hector had encouraged his father to call on Anchises' men. In all truth, they would most likely not need the extra soldiers, but Hector had an alternate reason for wanting Aeneas by his side. Ever since he saw how Aeneas treated Myrina, he did not trust the man as far as he could throw him. Hector wanted to keep a careful eye on the prince and be sure he could not prey on Hector's young friend. Surely there would be some woman in Pedasus who could distract him.

"What news of the uprising?" Euryalus asked as they moved from pleasantries and began the debriefing and discussion of strategy.

"They have crossed the border," Altes answered solemnly. It was the news that everyone expected but which Hector secretly dreaded. "They sacked one of my villages near the forests of Mount Ida. They keep to the woods where they are hidden. We cannot be certain of their numbers or even their true whereabouts. The forest is too dense with too many places to hide."

"They won't be satisfied with living in the forests for long," Euryalus acknowledged. "But we can wait."

"It should not be long until they surface once more. It has already been days since the last attack. I feel they'll move again soon."

"Then we will be ready."

"We should send men to watch the forests and alert us to any movement," Hector suggested. "Their strength is in surprise. If we can see them before they reach us, we'll defeat them much swifter."

"I doubt they'll surrender without a fight," Altes warned.

"Then we will drive them south back to Cilicia, and if they cross the border, we will do it again and again until they are forced to surrender."

"Or we can quell this now," Glaucus pointed out, and it seemed that all the men thoughtfully nodded their heads in mutual understanding –everyone but Hector. Evidently he was the only one who didn't understand what was meant by this, but he waited expectantly to see how Glaucus and the others would continue rather than speaking up to admit his ignorance.

"That may be our only option," Aeneas admitted, and Hector shot his cousin a curious glance.

"We should be prepared to use whatever force is necessary," Euryalus agreed.

At this comment, Hector could no longer hold his tongue and clarified, "You mean kill them all."

He received mainly blank stares as though it should have been the most obvious response in the world, but at length, Glaucus responded frankly, "Yes."

His brow knit deeply, and he felt slightly bizarre for apparently being the sole man gathered who was not interested in that plan of action. "These are village people, common folk. These are farmers, fishermen, potters, blacksmiths… This is not an army that we are facing. These are untrained -albeit enraged and desperate- common men. We cannot simply kill them all."

"Do you think they offered that same amount of respect and honor to my villagers?" Altes countered. He was much bolder now that Priam was not around to scold him, but clearly he didn't realize that Hector was not easily intimidated.

Rather, the Trojan prince's eyes narrowed to meet the challenge. Though young, he had long abandoned the days of acting as his father's puppet. He was not afraid to speak his mind or stand his ground, and on this topic, he fully intended to dig his heels in deeper. It was a matter of morality –not war, and Hector would bend for no man. "They should not be allowed to wander Troad's lands, but that doesn't mean that killing them off is the only other option available."

"If we can avoid it, we should," Aeneas offered. "We are planning for the worst."

"Seeing our combined forces may scare them off," Euryalus added, but his somber tone suggested that he didn't think they would be so lucky.

"In the morning," Altes said with his gaze still directed toward Hector, "I would like to show you the village which they attacked. You can see for yourself what manner of men these are."

"Very well," Hector rejoined with a firm nod. He doubted there was any sight that could convince him this choice of action was a correct one, but he would give Altes the opportunity all the same. The conversation turned to the more complicated topics: how to disperse the troops, whether to scatter some of them across the villages while leaving the majority at Pedasus, should Hector, Aeneas, Glaucus, and Euryalus likewise be separated, and much more.

The discussion trailed out long into the night until Altes eventually announced while wearily rubbing a hand over his worn features, "Any further talk can be finished tomorrow. We will rest for now." At the announcement, the group scattered, and Aeneas and Hector were granted a moment away from the nosey, opinionated ears of their fellows.

"You support this plan to wipe out the uprising," Hector said bluntly to his cousin, and he knew his own thoughts on the subject were no secret.

"I support what protects the southern villages and cities."

"No matter the cost?"

"If by killing fifty or one hundred, we save an equal or greater number, then I consider it a necessary price." Aeneas glanced at the Trojan prince with an unreadable expression. "Why are you so reluctant, cousin? Is this not why we travelled to the border?"

"I came to protect my people," Hector answered solemnly, "but I did not think it would entail killing an entire mass of people."

"It may not."

Hector granted him a sarcastic glance. "You know as well as I that their fates have already been decided by those men. It is up to the gods now whether they will be spared or otherwise."

"If it is certain, why not accept it and spare yourself the battle of wits with Altes?"

"Because I don't think it is right." He paused before his door and crossed his arms over his chest as he mulled the matter over further. "I won't follow this course of action unless I'm certain it is the only option."

"Then I look forward to your future arguments with Altes," Aeneas quipped with a grin.

"He may grow weary and accept my reasoning."

"Hector, the optimist," he commented with a chuckle. "Kings grow more stubborn with age, my friend. Altes would fight you if only to maintain his reputation. He wouldn't want to be bested by a man of your age."

Hector smirked and countered, "He may not have a choice in the matter."

"You are a stubborn ass," the Dardanian pointed out matter-of-factly.

"Cousin," he said and clapped the other man firmly on the shoulder, "I would rather be an ass than a cur like you." The two young men burst into laughter, and it echoed eerily through the otherwise quiet halls. Its powerful resonance only reminded them of the late hour, and Hector opened his door while commenting, "We have much to do in the morning."

Aeneas was already heading down the corridor toward his room and grinned back over his shoulder at his cousin. "I'm curious to see what Altes has planned for us tomorrow."

"Nothing we will enjoy," Hector guessed with a hint of distaste to his tone.

"Then we'll need our rest. I'll see you in the morning, cousin."

The Trojan nodded his head in a final farewell before ducking into his borrowed chambers. The servants had lit a few candles which barely illuminated the room, but he was grateful for the peaceful solitude. He often only found such serenity under the cover of night, and he welcomed it after the week he had endured riding south and now his current mission in Pedasus. He had garnered quite a bit of experience dealing with stubborn kings while in Greece, but he had Acamas and Euphemos at least on his side. Suddenly he felt as though he were the only one opposed to their recent plan of action. That realization only brought him more unrest considering it would undoubtedly mean that his voice would be ignored. Hector was never one to stand aside and let his men run into battle while he watched, but on this occasion, he might wish to only be a spectator. The notion of killing a commoner made his stomach turn, but as a soldier and a prince, there were times he was asked to do what was best for his country even when it was not an action he would like to take.

With a heavy sigh, he drew the familiar, tarnished gold pin from his pack and sat on the edge of his bed while rolling the piece between his forefinger and thumb. As usual, it brought him some sense of solace handling the token which symbolized how much she cared about him –how much she had always cared about him. Seeing as he didn't often enjoy that amount of certainty with his father or acquaintances, it had a calming effect. He was able to hold the pin and think of her smile, her bright eyes, and her voice, and he could simply lose himself in the memory of her. It had been over a week, and he missed her. Knowing that he couldn't ride for an hour or two and visit her made him wish to see her even more. The distance between them and the knowledge of how long they would be apart weighed heavily on him that night for some reason, and the silence of the room seemed suffocating. Here he was in a distant city possibly forced to partake in an action that violated his morality and holding onto a childhood token of his friendship. The Prince of Troy felt alone. It seeped into his pores, and he frowned as he acknowledged the feeling. It was bizarre, recognizing the uncomfortable ache and trying to understand why it was there. He was never lonely. He was accustomed to standing on his own, being independent, and taking care of himself. He didn't need anyone else. Yet he was holding onto the gold pin and thinking of a young woman miles away. Rather than continuing that train of thought, he placed the pin on the bedside table, undressed, slipped beneath the sheets, and fell asleep.

* * *

A month. It had been a month since she had last seen him. The days faded one into the next and were punctuated by her ever-shifting mood. Today it was impatience, and she paused during her chores outside to stare at the empty space stretching out between her position and Troy. Her fingers twitched restlessly at her side, but she stood still as a statue otherwise and simply stared. She didn't expect to see the outline of a rider on horseback interrupting the fuzzy line of the horizon, but she vainly hoped.

'It has only been a month,' the voice of reason in her head pointed out. 'You can't expect him to return after only a month.'

'But he said their forces may not be needed. He said he would return then,' a childish voice returned.

'Then he would have come sooner.'

'Maybe he has been busy.' There was a pause, and Myrina chewed on her lip while her blue-green eyes still scanned the horizon without ceasing.

Her voice of reason seemed reluctant as thought protecting her but ultimately said, 'He isn't coming.' That was the end of it.

Myrina swallowed the sorrow lumping up in her throat and turned back toward the house. She needed to distract herself. Her hands reached up to readjust the pin in her hair though it had been perfectly fine before, but she felt tense and nervous. Keeping her hands busy seemed like the best way satisfy her anxiety. What was he doing? Was he safe? Was he injured? Was he in danger? She knew well enough by then that that particular line of questioning was never ending and only served to tie her stomach into knots. Sometimes it consumed her, however, and she would be powerless to push it aside. She found Isidora inside the kitchen scrubbing at the floor with an old rag. The pair had not truly reconciled since Myrina's outburst a month earlier, but there had been no more fights. They had retreated back to their separate camps to lick their wounds and regroup, but they were waiting for the next signal to continue the war. The only question was who would strike first.

"I will go and see Korina. I have not visited her in a few days," Myrina announced since being in Isidora's passive aggressive presence would only frustrate her further. Korina's gentle nature might soothe her, and they always found an endless array of topics to discuss in depth. She could use an easy, mindless conversation.

"Do not be gone too long," Isidora warned and winced against the pain in her back as she sat on her heels. Scrubbing the floors was not an easy task, and Myrina knew she should have offered to handle that chore. Admittedly, she was still irked about Isidora's behavior a month earlier and was on some level punishing the old woman. "I will need your help with supper."

"I will only stay for a moment," Myrina promised and turned away without another word. The journey across the village was a short one, but her eyes kept darting back to the distance at her right. No matter what, she looked even though she knew she wouldn't see any change. It was beyond reason or logic. It was simply a desire, a yearning to see him. She wanted to kiss him, to feel his arms around her, and to have him unleash all the pent up desire tangled carelessly throughout her form. She wanted him, and every day that passed without him strengthened the feeling. She would give him everything if it only meant being beside him. Her chest ached whenever she thought of him. Long ago he had carved out a space within her, and now the empty void yearned for him to fill it. It was a constant pain, but it rose and fell like the tides to reflect her mood. When she was happy, she would think of their times together and smile, feeling content, but when she was sad, she would think of the distance between them and the unknown length of time separating their reunion. It left her weary, sad, and disappointed.

'How much longer will he be?' the childish voice asked impatiently.

'You should not look so often. You're torturing yourself,' the voice of reason returned.

The battle within her mind raged on, and she was grateful when she stepped into Aeton's home; but there was no one to be seen. She wandered further into the small house and checked the rooms as she passed them by. "Korina," she called out and wondered if the woman had left that day. Her eyes glanced down the hallway and settled on the doorway of the far back room where Aeneas had been kept. Remembering the handsome cad made her frown, and she was suddenly relieved that he had never returned to torment and embarrass her more than he usually did. "Korina," she called out a bit louder and continued her journey through the home.

"Myrina?" a distant voice yelled back. It seemed to come from outside, and Myrina headed out the back of the house to find Korina gathering dried pieces of laundry. She immediately began helping, and Korina smiled at the younger woman. "I thought it might be you," she murmured, and the pair returned into the house with their arms full of clean cloth.

"I wished to see you," Myrina admitted. "I worry how you're feeling. I know you have been sick."

Korina guided them into a room where they could fold the sheets and other laundry before returning them to their proper places. "I spoke with the king's healer whenever he was here to care for the Dardanian prince. He told me of some remedies for sickness that have helped me, but it certainly has not cured me."

"Is this normal?" she asked curiously. After all with two older brothers, she didn't have much experience with pregnancy and child birth.

"Yes. My eldest sister was ill her entire pregnancy. I pray that will not be the same with me." Korina motioned for Myrina to grasp the other side of the sheet so that she could help her fold it. "Although the sickness did keep her from gaining much weight. She looked mostly the same aside from her stomach, but from behind, you couldn't even tell she was pregnant."

"You are not showing at all," Myrina commented, but then again Korina never wore fitted clothing like some of the women in Troy. Thus, the folds of her dress hid any slope from curious eyes.

"Thankfully."

"Why have you not told anyone but me? You are married. There is no need to hide this."

"I know," Korina murmured softly beneath her breath. "I feared it was too soon -that people would suspect."

"It has been over a month since you were married. If you wait much longer, it will seem far more suspicious than if you are honest now."

"You are right," she conceded, but her stance on the matter did not seem to shift in the slightest. No one would change her mind but herself.

Myrina worried about her as she would a sibling, but she knew harping on the subject any longer would only irritate Korina. Instead, she wondered, "How have you been faring otherwise?"

"Well... I am enjoying my duties as a wife."

"Is it truly so different than before?"

"Of course."

"How? You are still cooking, cleaning, and tending to the house. You simply live with Aeton now. It does not seem very different."

"Perhaps from the outside it looks as though things are the same, but I am Aeton's wife now. Being in love and being married changes everything."

Myrina ducked her head to hide her sarcastic look as she commented, "I still do not understand."

Korina didn't answer immediately, and in response to the silence, Myrina glanced up to see if she had inadvertently offended her friend. Rather the woman had a distant look on her face and smiled gently. "You will one day... When you are married."

"I do not wish to be married," she reminded her, and it was a topic she had already explained in depth to Korina.

With that all-knowing smile still gracing her features, she gathered a few of the folded sheets and continued as though the other woman hadn't spoken, "One day you will find love. He will mean everything to you. You will be so impatient to see him again whenever he leaves, even though you know it will only be for a moment. In the morning, you will barely be able to wait for him to wake up so that you can speak with him or see him smile. He is the one person who will make you cry one moment and laugh the next, and you won't be able to imagine your life without him. For you, a life without him is not worth living." Then she left Myrina to put the laundry away.

The young woman stared after her in stunned silence. The seemingly simple words resonated through her, making her body subtly shake. Her chest swelled and ached simultaneously, and she placed a hand onto her chest. The shell necklace stood between her palm and her skin, but she could still feel the steady beat through it all. It was surprisingly calm despite her sudden revelation. She vaguely thought she ought to be more anxious and erratic, but she oddly felt at peace. With Korina's guidance, it occurred to her so simply and plainly as though she had known it her entire life -ever since she was eight-years-old crying in the garden. Maybe it had happened that first moment that the young boy with a crown of unruly brown curls stepped into her life, or perhaps it grew with time. She couldn't be certain, but somehow she just knew.

'This is not how it happens,' the voice of reason warned. 'This is too sudden, too quick, too easy. You cannot trust this.'

For once, Myrina smiled to herself and silenced the voice in her head without a word. She gathered the remaining folded pieces into her arms and hurried after Korina.

* * *

After three months, one would think the uprising had been quelled considering that it was a well-trained army versus a group of poorly armed commoners. Unfortunately, that was not the case. The only changes that had been made were an increase in Altes' poor attitude, numerous injuries to their soldiers, multiple raids on villages, and a distinct shift in Hector's opinion of this mob. Currently the Trojan prince was at the front of the group of soldiers leading several villagers north where they would be kept until it was safe to move them south to their homes once more. His chestnut eyes scanned the horizon without pause in response to the heavy foreboding feeling settling in his gut. They had left too late, and the sun was already ducking behind the plains to the west. They should not ride at dark, and he maneuvered his steed aside to wait for Aeneas. His cousin was among the men guiding their horses up and down the lines to be sure everything was running smoothly. When he saw Hector's expectant expression, however, he galloped up beside the prince to see what was bothering him.

"Can they move any swifter?" Hector asked with a nod toward the villagers.

"Not all of them. Very few have horses. Many have seen too many winters."

"Or too few," he murmured as his gaze fell on a young boy and his sister each carrying one side of a sack which far too heavy for them. They limped along but did not lose pace with their family. "It is too dangerous to move at night."

"We cannot stop," Aeneas countered, and his lips pressed in a thin line as they both realized the threat looming to their right where the forests of Mount Ida stretched out endlessly.

"Try to encourage them along," he said. "Keep your eyes east. If you see any movement, alert everyone. Tell the others."

"I will," Aeneas assured him, and by that time they were in line with the back of the group.

Hector guided his steed forward at an easy pace, and his face was neutral to hide his rising anxiety. The further the sun dipped behind the horizon, the greater his concern increased, but he silently assured himself that it would not be much longer until they reached the camp. It was too reminiscent of his time spent in Greece with the displaced members of the Bisaltae tribe. The recognition caused his stomach to turn in distaste, and he resolved for the umpteenth time since arriving at the border that the same would not happen to his people -not while he was still breathing and able to fight off any intruders on their lands. His people would not become the victims of this reckless violence. His thoughts grounded him, and he shucked off his apprehension as hours passed by without any changes to the east. Perhaps the gods had smiled on them, and their journey had gone unnoticed.

Then from the front, a haunting call lifted across the breeze, "It's a trap!"

The wave of nerves and adrenaline crashed over him in a tidal wave, and he shot forward to see over the hill they were mounting. When he reached the top, he was stunned by the sight that met him, and he barely noticed that Aeneas had joined him. Neither prince could speak a word for several excruciatingly long minutes. The twilight between day and night had darkened the sky so that Hector had not immediately noticed the cloud of black swept up toward the heavens. Bright flames engulfed the campsite and scattered carcasses told the story of the violence that led to this end. It was a horrific sight, and Hector's response was delayed as he gruffly commanded, "Keep them back! Keep them behind the hill!" There were already screams from the villagers who had ascended the hill, and Hector knew they would soon be in a frenzy if he did not stop the others from seeing this carnage. Soldiers numbly moved to obey their prince and forced the villagers back. Their anxiety was nearly palpable, and the Trojan prince knew this was only a temporary fix. He simply needed some time to think through their situation. Where would they go now? What would they do?

"What have they done?" Aeneas whispered in shock from his side. "How could they attack a these people?"

Hector had no answer for his cousin, and his brow knit deeply while his chestnut eyes scanned the scene. This was far beyond pillaging for supplies. This was war on their people. "We should check for survivors."

"We shouldn't linger," the Dardanian suddenly warned. "They could be watching us." His attention was turned toward the forests to their right, and Hector followed his gaze.

"We cannot abandon anyone who has been left behind. We will check for survivors."

"Where will we go? We cannot stay here."

"We should retreat back south toward Pedasus," he decided though honestly he wasn't thinking too clearly. "There are too many villagers and too few soldiers. We can't risk fighting them off."

"It is almost night fall. They will either attack us here or on the journey back... We should head west, cousin."

"I don't know these lands too well. I do not know what lies directly to the west."

"We can set up camp... away from the woods."

"They could follow us and attack in the night."

"What if we remain?"

Hector granted his friend an incredulous look and countered, "You would rather we sit here and wait for them to ambush us?"

"Whether it is here or when we retreat, it will happen."

Hector quickly took in their surroundings which were illuminated by the waning light and fires from the camp. "We must check for survivors first." It was the only plan he had, and he called for a few soldiers to move about the wreckage with him. He dismounted his steed as well, and Aeneas moved to join him. "Stay here, cousin."

"If you're going, so will I."

"I need someone here I can trust to keep them calm. I won't be gone long," the prince said, but Aeneas did not appear convinced. However, for once Hector seemed to be employing his superior station, and Aeneas reluctantly took his horse's reigns.

"Be swift about it," he warned.

"I will," Hector assured him with a firm nod, and the Trojan soon joined his soldiers. The horses would be too spooked by the fires and wouldn't be able to slip through the narrow spaces. Still, the men were much slower on foot, and Hector felt more vulnerable considering their sparse numbers. Surely there was no one hiding in the camps' remains to ambush them. Honestly, Hector would not be too surprised if they were. His muscles coiled beneath his armor in anticipation, and the adrenaline pumped through his veins, drumming out the passing time with his heart's every beat. It was a reminder and a warning all at once, and it's tempo only increased as he moved further through the debris. The flames were still fresh so that very few tents had burnt up completely. Most were still engulfed, and he was careful to keep his distance lest any of them collapse near him. The temperature rose substantially in the crowded space, and the night was eerily silent aside from the sound of fire licking at the remains. He briefly wondered if he ought to call out for any survivors, but he was too wary to reveal his position so easily and quickly. Instead, he moved from tent to tent, straining to see inside each while keeping up his pace.

It seemed that everyone had fled while a few stragglers had been slaughtered. The dry, tall grass of the plains was trampled into the dirt, signaling their movement. Despite this evidence, Hector was thorough if not slightly desperate in his search. Someone had to have remained. Someone had to be alive. If not, he would feel as though he had failed. Had they been on time, he could have saved them. He could have protected them from this, but he was too late. How many unnecessary lives had been lost? They weighed down on his conscience, and his brow furrowed deeper into his handsome features. His thoughts instinctively drifted to the golden pin at his waist. It had become a ritual part of donning his armor, and he hoped that it would provide the same calming effect on him as the young woman who had returned it to him. Tonight, however, there was no peace to be found among the wreckage surrounding him.

Were it not for the sound of the fire or his all-consuming guilty thoughts, he might have heard it sooner. It was barely a whisper when it met his ears, but he stilled immediately to silence his own footfall and strained to listen for the sound once more. It was difficult to decipher it as something human, but he knew it was not a sound of the plains. For that reason alone did he track down its source. This was not an easy task considering the numerous tents, the sounds of falling night, and the distracting threat still overshadowing the scene. However, he used every ounce of training and concentration he possessed until he drew closer and closer. It was coming from a tent that had not yet caught fire by some grace of the gods. Using his bronze blade, he pushed aside the flaps at the entryway and peered into the darkness within. The sound had stopped, and he waited to see if it had been a figment of his imagination. He was cautious in case the sound was that of a foe and not an ally and twisted away from the opening to peer back across the camp.

All at once, there was a shrill cry, and then he felt the blade slice open his thigh. Hector growled against the pain and swung back to hit the perpetrator. That was until the flames lit up his face, and he saw the young, terror stricken boy who had attacked him. He stopped his blade inches from the boy's frame and ignored the pain in his leg. "Don't be afraid," he assured him, relieved that he had found someone. "I am not your enemy." Now without a weapon, the boy scrambled backward unarmed and crouched in a corner of the tent. It was only then that Hector allowed himself to realize his thigh had not been merely cut open. There was the handle of a dull kitchen blade protruding out of the muscle. He rolled his eyes in a mixture of anger and annoyance and ultimately decided to dismiss the injury a while longer. He moved forward slowly and sheathed his blade before the boy's eyes to show his harmlessness. "I am Hector, Prince of Troy. I brought a group of villagers here from the south... I won't hurt you." The boy was visibly shaking, and Hector feared he was too terrified to believe him. Somehow the scene reminded him of the first time he had found Myrina, but this was far more morbid. He placed a hand to his chest plate and continued, "Look at my armor. I am a soldier of Troy."

Finally, the boy seemed to calm, but it was barely a shift to his demeanor. There was no telling what he had seen. "They came from the trees," he whispered hoarsely.

"I know. You need to come with me. I will take you somewhere safe."

"My family..."

Hector swallowed heavily and lied, "I will help you find them. They're safe." He couldn't be sure if what he said was true, but his only concern was retrieving the boy and taking him away. If they saw morning, he would keep his word. He stretched out his hand across the space between them, and the boy reluctantly took it. Hector pulled him to his feet and commanded, "Keep close to me." He relaxed his grip, but the boy clung to his hand as though it were his only hope of survival. The prince was not comfortable with the gesture and nearly pulled his hand away until a stray ray of light illuminated the boy's face once more. When Hector saw his blackened face interrupted only by two bare trails stemming from his eyes, he gripped the boy's hand once more. It was a haunting sight to say the least and made his stomach tighten in disgust. 'Those murderers' was all he could think. Once they began their journey back toward the group, Hector was reminded of his injury. He limped and eyed the protruding handle with an icy glare. If he pulled it out now, he could risk bleeding out too much, but it hindered his movements. Every step was a sharp, excruciating pain, but he clenched his jaw and thought of the boy at his side. His own injury was not important at that moment. He would grit his teeth and bear it.

"My lord!" one of his soldiers called out in alarm when he saw him limping through the camp grounds. "You've been injured!" Hector was too concentrated on making it back to his horse since he was too vulnerable on foot with his injury. He couldn't properly protect his latest cargo.

"They approach!" someone else warned, and it was what Hector had been fearing. He picked up his pace as best he could and pushed away the soldier when he tried to help bear some of Hector's weight.

Addressing the child, he commanded, "Never let me leave your sight. Keep close. I'll protect you." In response, the boy gripped tighter onto his hand, and they stepped out of the camp and into the space between the wreckage and the hill. Immediately, Hector looked to his left and could only make out the figures in the waning light because of the torches they held. It was harrowing finally seeing them, but his concern and anger overshadowed his apprehension. Instead, he turned to assess the distance between himself and the group on the hill. He could hear the cries of the villagers. Aeneas needed to calm them. He rushed forward as quickly as he could, but the blade was impeding his swiftness. With an impatient growl, he grasped the handle, tore out the knife, and threw it carelessly aside. The wound began bleeding as he had feared, but he was able to move more easily. That was all that mattered to him. Seeing his approach, Aeneas galloped forward with his horse, and Hector quickly mounted the steed, grabbed the child, and placed him on the horse as well.

"Should we fight them?" Aeneas asked with a panic-stricken expression, completely overlooking the child seated in front of Hector. "The villagers are terrified. I can barely control them."

"Do we have a choice?" he countered in response to the first question and kicked his horse's side to ascend the hill. "Trojans!" he barked out to grasp his men's attention. His horse paced restlessly, feeling the anxiety of the evening. "Keep to the east between the forest and the villagers. Protect them at all costs."

"We cannot fight them," one man rejoined nervously, and it was too dark for Hector to pinpoint who had spoken. "We should retreat."

His brow knit deeply, and he returned, "We are soldiers. We are Trojans. We will not retreat for a few commoners."

"We will fight," Aeneas agreed. The men seemed bolstered by these words and cried out in approval. The Dardanian moved closer to his cousin and asked, "Will he join us?"

It was then that Hector was reminded of the boy. "No." He couldn't ride into battle with the child, and he moved toward the villagers, finding an older woman with a family. "Take care of him," he said and lifted the child under his shoulders to hand him to the woman. The boy kicked and struggled, clearly not wanting to be separated from the one person who had saved him and promised to protect him after his horrible ordeal. "You will be safe here," he assured the child and left before the boy could respond. Some part of him felt slightly guilty for passing off the boy so easily, but it was his only option. He had to save these people. The greater good came first.

Once in line with his men again, he glanced down at their faces. There were too few soldiers and too many standing across the expanse. They were outnumbered, but they were better armed and better trained. "No Trojan dies tonight," he called out with such certainty lacing his voice that the men believed him: they would be victorious. There was no other option. The mob rushed forward, brandishing their scythes, torches, and other makeshift weapons. Hector drew his bronze sword and held off for several moments before giving the call, "Forward!" All at once, the Trojan cavalry galloped down to face the intruders to their lands.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Hello gorgeous gals! Um: sun bathing, watermelon, and a pile of good books… I love summer :) Unfortunately my wireless connection at my parent's house is like non-existent, so I was trying to figure out how to upload this chapter for days! I ended up having to hold off until I got back to my apartment :/ Anyway soooo I'm kinda excited for/dreading the next chapter. I have to get in the right mindset for it. I think it will be unexpected for better or for worse ;)

Thank you KawaiiHawaiian, Avatar2009, AmyLNelson, and Rosie Cullen-Hale for the ongoing support even after nearly a week of nada! I have nothing but adoration for you four lovely ladies :D

Kawaii: Howdy dialogue junkie ;) Hector will come back to Myrina soon… and by soon I mean the next chapter haha Did I just kill it? I just don't have the patience right now to write another chapter about battles X( And I figure you guys get the idea, so I can just move right along! That was so sweet about Myrina being a danger to herself because of her beauty. You know it's funny because in my head, she's not a Helen, ya know? Like she has a pretty face with sort of pointed features and full lips, but mainly she just has these kinda crazy bright eyes that set her apart. As far as her figure, I actually see her being pretty skinny with a narrow frame like no big boobs or a butt. So she's beautiful in her own way, but at the same time, she's not someone who stops traffic haha Send some of that rain up here! We're having a major drought :( Hope you liked this chapter xoxo

Avatar: Well hello stranger haha My exams were killleeeerrrrr, but I don't care because they are through. Good riddance, I say! Haha the story about you and your husband is hilarious… Clearly, problem solved ;) Since you've said that, I can't wait to see your reaction to the next chapter. You told me something a while back, and I think you'll have a certain connection to what's coming because of what you told me (This is me trying to be mysterious, but I just sound really wordy and weird so sorry about that haha) :D I hope you enjoyed this chapter, doll!

Amy: "HARRY POTTER"… That's all my brother ever says when he does his "British" accent. I remembered you were British so… There we go. I wish I could attach sound. You would probably pee your pants if you heard his impression. Sure he sounds like a British man –if said man were completely hammered and had just gotten multiple root canals haha I'm glad you liked Hector's reaction to Aeneas, and the thing with him kissing her and then smacking her butt when she left the room… Don't know where that came from haha Hope you liked this chapter :D

Rosie: Awww thanks lovely! :) Hector was kinda jealous all over that chapter: Aeneas, "the mystery soldier", and whatnot haha I really had fun doing the irony of Hector knowing but Aeneas not knowing. Aeneas' moment of realization will definitely be something monumental. It may have adverse effects… (innocent hint). Gurrrrll you horndog :P I feel ya! I would very much like for them to do the nasty nasty. I mean I'm at like 23 chapters, and all I've got to show for it is some heavy petting between the two. BUT stay tuned for the next chapter. That's all I gotta say ;) And I'm glad that you're putting your foot down: "Listen here author lady… Yea Hector and Myrina are going to have sexy sex many times over and end up together and live happily ever after" Andromashmee indeed hahaha I should like write her name as that randomly at some point in the story and see if anyone notices haha I hope you enjoyed this chapter xoxo


	24. The First Time

Chapter 23  
"The First Time"

* * *

Recommended Songs: "Bowspirit" – Balmorhea & "Too Afraid to Love You" – The Black Keys

* * *

Dawn was a welcome relief from the torment and battle raging through the night. The group had fled south back to Pedasus, and currently tents were being set up to house the displaced villagers. Hector felt weak from the blood loss during the battle. He had endured various wounds like many of his men, but as he had promised, no Trojan died. He stood now in the pale morning light with the wounds stitched and bandaged, but he had no time to rest and heal -not yet anyway. There was still some unfinished business to attend to before he allowed himself to sleep. He slowly walked through the tents, scanning the grounds with a weather eye. It only took him a moment to find his destination, and his gaze settled on the family rummaging through their packs in front of their assigned tent. He approached them, and they bowed as he neared.

"Where is he?" Hector asked the woman.

"Inside. He's weary so I had him lie down," she answered with her gaze downcast.

"Thank you for taking him."

"We must all do our parts, my lord," she rejoined humbly.

Rather than answering, he nodded in wordless agreement and pushed aside the flap to enter the tent. As she had said, the child was curled up on a pile of blankets situated on the ground, and Hector had no intention of waking him. He was only pleased to see he was taken care of. He turned then to leave, but a weak voice stopped him, "Have you found them?"

The prince looked back at the boy who was sitting up in bed and rubbing his tired eyes. He smeared the ash across his face, but he didn't seem to mind. He was likely too exhausted to notice. "Found whom?" he asked.

"My family." The wide, doe eyes reminded him of Paris or one of his other younger brothers, and he moved to sit beside him.

"Not yet... We sent out a group to locate the missing villagers. I'm sure they'll find your family soon enough. You will be safe here until they return."

"I don't want to stay with them," he whispered with a frown.

"They are good people."

"Their son smells," he complained.

Hector grinned and laughed at the comment. He always appreciated that children spoke frankly and earnestly no matter the situation. After a lifetime of "courtesy" and fake conversations, he preferred sincerity and bluntness. Maybe that was why he had liked Myrina's company. "I have a brother about your age."

"What's his name?"

"Deiphobus... He's cunning like you." Hector realized then that he had never asked for the boy's name. "What is your name?"

"Eresus," he answered and shifted uneasily as he added, "I'm sorry for hurting you."

Hector glanced down at the stitching on his thigh and shrugged effortlessly. Pain was something he was accustomed to and could easily handle. "You did well," he assured him with a lopsided smirk. "It was a good attack."

"I was afraid," he admitted with a hint of shame.

"You would have fought them off. That was brave of you to face me." Again, he was reminded of his younger siblings. His role as the eldest often meant him reassuring them and guiding them toward a new level of maturity -that was when he wasn't taunting them or playing tricks on them as any older brother should. "Your parents would be proud."

"You'll find them?"

"I'll do my best," he promised with a firm nod, and he meant every word. "I must go now. You should rest."

"You're truly a prince?" the boy asked when Hector stood.

"Yes."

"I didn't think princes fought with the soldiers."

"I do," he returned bluntly. "This is my country, and these are my people. It's my duty to protect them."

"I want to be a soldier one day," he said, "but my father says I will be a farmer like him."

Hector smiled and impulsively removed the dagger in its sheath from his waist. He handed it to the boy and said, "Tell your father when you're old enough, I would be honored to have you fight as a soldier of Troy in my army."

Eresus looked completely awestruck by the gift as though Hector had handed him a piece of gold or something even more valuable. "I can have this?"

He nodded and warned with a chuckle, "Try to only stab the enemy with it." With that, he moved toward the opening in the tent and added, "Don't tell the woman I gave it to you." He didn't need anyone trying to take it away from the boy. He might be a bit young, but Hector was his age when he was given his first dagger. Besides, it had seemed like the right thing to do at the time, and he couldn't take it back now. He could easily get another from the armory.

"I won't," he promised. "Thank you."

Hector grinned a final time and ducked out of the tent. The woman and her family bowed to him as before, and he walked off to retrieve his horse and ride into the city. He was exhausted from the battle which was not so much a victory as it was their forces holding out as long as possible and keeping the mob at bay. It had lasted far too long, and he surveyed the stitches and bandages riddling his arms and legs. The commoners were clumsy in their attack, but their blades hurt as much as a soldier's sword. He was simply grateful none had been lost and that they had been able to keep the mob back even if it meant taking a few blows and receiving several injuries. Remembering Eresus once more, he smirked to himself and thought of how Myrina would react when he told her this story. She would be pleased to know how he had acted and that he had given the boy his dagger. He added it to the list of stories he was saving up to tell her once he returned. He knew how she loved hearing them, and he wouldn't forget a single detail for her. Thinking of her, he gazed north and wondered what she was doing. It would still be some time before he saw her again, but they were surprisingly more successful last night in facing the group. Perhaps this was the change in the winds that they needed. It wouldn't be too long before he saw her again. At least he hoped not.

* * *

By four months, brusque, incessant irritation had practically become a character trait for her. It was difficult to explain precisely how their time apart had affected her, but it was cumulative and only growing further each day. Perhaps in another month or two, she would finish her transformation and go completely mad, but beyond missing him fiercely and yearning for him with a deep-seated desire, she was impatient to speak with him. Her newly discovered revelation was choking her with its fervent need to be released, and she had practiced each night how she would tell him. The delivery was key in her opinion, and she couldn't simply allow herself to blurt it out as she was prone to doing in their conversations. For once, she needed to be tactful and eloquent, but her tongue became tied any time her words grew too lengthy or jumbled. Though essentially the wordiness should have warned her that she was losing the meaning entirely, she thought that simplifying it would show how much of a commoner she truly was. No, she would pretend that she was actually worthy of him –that she was even possibly his equal. Otherwise, she would have no courage to face him and say it.

At the thought, she struggled to recall the elegant speech she had attempted to memorize several nights ago. It became increasingly difficult to remember when she changed it so very often. Which version would come out this time was a gamble, but she was too distracted by the simple need and want to finally utter the words to notice her own incompetence. While her mind busied itself with practicing her tirade, her hands worked at the sheets of her bed, pulling, straightening, smoothing out all the lines until it lay across the narrow mattress in one seamless layer. By then, her chores did little to distract her from her thoughts. They were actually the perfect way to appear outwardly connected to the world when in reality she was on an entirely different plane, consumed by her thoughts. For a time, she had tried to shuck off her distracted disposition, but there was nothing to engage her in her life. It's repetitive nature and boring quality only encouraged her retreat into her fantasy world. Even the voice of reason had disappeared as though her own mind had abandoned her as a lost cause, a victim of this one, all-consuming emotion.

Myrina felt the presence behind her but was too distracted to look. Isidora often interrupted her thoughts, but she was in no mood to deal with the aging servant. "Did you speak with Chryseis this morning?" she asked curtly and pulled a stray curl back to re-pin out of her face. There was no answer, and initially, that didn't concern her since she was still only partially touching reality. However, it piqued her interest once she became aware of it. It was likely Isidora waiting to deliver some snide remark. While turning on her heel to face the old woman, Myrina placed her hands on her hips and pressed, "Did you not hear me?"

All at once, her heart jumped up into her throat, and she shook with the forceful resonance of recognition and relief washing over her. It was twenty times more powerful than when he had returned from war, and she was uncertain whether to laugh or cry when abruptly faced with him. Her bottom lip quivered, caught between the two competing actions, and her teeth caught the plump flesh to still it. He was just as she remembered: tall, dark, handsome. She knew that she should say something, but she couldn't find the strength to speak. Standing so close to him made her knees weak. At any moment, she might crumble to his feet. His hand reached back to close the door, grip the lock, and bolt the door shut with one fluid movement. Her heart raced unsteadily as she recognized what this meant, and she looked back at his face. No longer did he hide the emotion from her sight, and the dark desire nearly seeped out of his pores, tainting the air, and intoxicating her with a similar need. It had been too long.

In another moment, his arms were around her waist, locking her frame to his, and his lips were on her own, caressing them with all the pent up passion and desire four months apart had caused. She eagerly cupped his face to welcome the action and melted into his arms. The feeling of his lips contrasted by the rough texture of his beard, the hardness of his muscular frame, and his musky scent… It all overwhelmed her with such a force that her fragile strength dissipated beneath his touch. His arms around her waist were the only things keeping her from collapsing to the floor, but he drew her closer to him, nearly crushing her to his chest in his desire to press every inch of them together. Her breathing had quickened to match her heart's swift pace, thundering in her ears. His lips followed the line of her jaw up to her ear, and he gently kissed the tender skin beneath her lobe. She sighed in complete bliss and had taken to gripping his shoulders to steady herself, but she was so weak and powerless in his arms. The trail drew lower down her neck, and she nervously licked her dry lips while her breathing turned shaky.

As always, he stirred the desire within her, and months of impatience for him gave her a renewed sense of urgency. She barely noticed how her hands quaked as she untied the threading holding his vest together and forced the black material off his broad shoulders. Hector transferred her from one arm to the next as he slipped off the article without releasing her. His mouth was on hers again while he took hold of the shoulders of her dress and forced them down the length of her arms. The strength behind his movement nearly tore the material apart, but Myrina was too preoccupied acknowledging the sensation of baring such an intimate part of herself to him. The air of the room seemed to sweep across the newly exposed surface, sending chills across her skin. Without hesitation, she pushed further into his arms until she felt the heat of his naked skin pressed against her. He welcomed her deeper into his embrace, willing to shelter her from anything so long as it kept her near him. Feeling the slight friction from the pressure between them was a sensation her mind had poorly recalled when remembering their last stolen night together. Now that it was resurrected, the memory and reality crashed over her, and she loved recognizing the feeling. Her cheeks flushed with the heat of her passion, and his calloused hands were pushing the material of her dress further down her waist to the slight swell of her hips. Here it struggled more against him, but he wouldn't surrender –not when he was so close.

It was farther than they had ever gone before, and some piece of her in the very back of her mind warned her to stop now. This was the turning point, and if she didn't speak up that very second, she would be unable to later. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips into the crook of his neck, tasting the thin layer of salty sweat on his bronze skin. It was her acceptance and commitment to whatever action he had planned for her. She would give him anything he asked of her, and she enjoyed dragging her lips over the soft skin of his chest and barely feeling the shudder as his heart beat faster. Finally, he was able to push her gathered dress over her hips, and he guided it further over the curve of her backside until he released it to fall into a crumpled pile on the floor. Immediately, his palms met the smooth skin of her upper thighs, drew up over the curve of her hips, and circled around to cup her lower back. He explored the newly exposed skin without pause, and his touch nearly made her quiver. She was too shy to move away from him now that she was completely naked, and she pressed herself to him with more force as though she could hide away in his embrace.

It was childish of her to be so embarrassed in front of him when he had seen and felt much more of her, but he was only too happy to act as her haven. He bent forward to kiss her forehead, and she tilted her head back to meet his next kiss. With the passion and desire lining his lips, her shyness slipped away into the periphery of her consciousness. She wrapped her arms around his neck to draw him closer, and he guided her back toward the bed. Her calves met the wooden frame, and she clung to him tighter, knowing what was intended. She was too afraid to release him, too afraid to face the site of their first time. She purposely kissed him with more force, willing herself to disappear into the want and need still resonating through her form. Hector wedged his arm between them and untied the material at his waist with one attempt. It fell to the ground without further coaxing, and he swiftly laid her back on the bed before hovering over her. He didn't take the time to notice her slight quivering, how desperately she clung to him, or the hint of uncertainty lining her blue green eyes. He was drunk on his own desire, and he wedged himself between her slender legs, laying his naked form on top of hers. Feeling her exposed and vulnerable beneath him drove away all of his sense and reason. It left no time for him to please her or savor her. It was a pure need to have all of her that very moment. It felt as though he had been waiting for years, and he couldn't stand another second.

She wasn't fighting him, and she enjoyed the feeling of his weight pressing down on her; but this was moving too fast. She wanted it. She wanted _him_, but she had not told him yet. They had not even spoken. She needed to say something before it was too late. She needed to say something before they went too far. At that moment, his mouth was buried in the crook of her neck, kissing and nibbling at the tender skin, while he released one of his arms to reach between her legs and gauge her response to him. She shuddered when he touched her and gripped tightly onto his arms to steady herself beneath the want and desire he drew out of her with his mere touch. It was only for a moment though, and then he was shifting himself slightly to a better position between her legs. His hand moved to her knee, slipped beneath the crook, and guided it up by his waist to give himself a better angle.

"Hector, wait," she begged in a sharp gasp of air. He immediately stilled, only a second away from experiencing what he had been longing for. The quiver and anxiety to her voice halted him, and he peered up at her with lust-filled chestnut eyes, waiting impatiently for her to do or say whatever she needed. Some part of him expected her to stop him, but he wordlessly prayed she would allow him to continue. The eloquent, elegant words swirled recklessly in a whirlwind about her mind. She struggled to decipher the start and the end of her speech, the proper order, and the tone of voice, but staring up into his face with his naked weight bearing down on her, they lumped in her throat. She was shaking beneath him, straining vainly to do this properly, but her courage was failing her. There was no other option though. She had to say it, or she would regret it for the rest of her life. When she didn't speak, his gaze drifted down between their bodies, and he seemed to be considering continuing since she was mute. If she didn't do it then, she would lose him, but the words wouldn't come. The fear and uncertainty gripped her stomach in a tight knot, and all at once, she blurted out, "I love you."

His attention snapped back to her in a second, and his eyes narrowed while peering down at her. For a moment, he wondered if he had imagined it or misheard her, but her blue-green eyes stared up at him with such raw, vulnerable sincerity that he knew she had truly said it. This realization hit him like a blow to the stomach and knocked all the wind from his lungs. He struggled to breathe, to think coherently, or to respond, but he was too stunned to do anything but look at her. His silence made her fear and anxiety creep back into her consciousness, and she desperately searched his face for any sign of a response, wordlessly begging him to do or say something, anything. Her bottom lip began quivering subtly, and a heavy pressure pulsed behind her eyes. They were completely naked, but she was the only one exposed in that moment. It was too personal, too intimate. His guard flew up instinctively, and he looked away from her, afraid to face those haunting eyes and the pain seeping into them. She knew then that she had lost him the moment he turned away, and she clenched her lids closed, trying to stop the tear that slipped out of the corner, across her temple, and buried itself in her hair. This was not how it was supposed to happen. All of it was wrong.

He was off of her in a moment and seated on the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands. He heard her shaky breathing but was too fearful of what he might see if he turned around to face her. What had he done? In a split second, the air in the room shifted to reflect the heavy guilt and tension weighing down on him. Neither moved or spoke a word for painful minutes, and his concern got the better of him. He peered over his shoulder and regretted the action immediately. He was granted with her profile since she couldn't bear to look at him and fully reveal the damage he had done. He could still see the tears spilling out of the corner of her eye and how her lip quivered. It was enough to make him feel disgusted with himself for pushing her too far and for not being able to say anything. Yet again he had hurt her without intending to. He was dangerous and reckless and shouldn't be allowed near her any longer. Without hesitation, he grabbed his discarded clothes from the floor, dressed, and fled from the room while her quiet sobs filled him with remorse and self-loathing. He closed the door behind him as though to shut the feelings away in the room, but they followed him without pause. He practically ran from the home and ignored the glare that Isidora sent after him. He retrieved his own horse since he had no time to wait for her to hobble slowly about.

In one fluid motion, he mounted the steed, and his chest burned painfully while the fresh memory of her hurt eyes flashed through his mind. He turned back to the house, torn between fleeing as he had intended or returning to somehow fix this mess he had caused. The memory of her tear stained skin returned, and his stomach twisted in gut-wrenching guilt. It left a bad taste in his mouth, and he felt slightly sick as he recognized how he had almost taken her. What had he done? The question remained unanswered. He was too afraid to confess to the truth, and he kicked the sides of his horse, galloping faster than ever before away from the village and away from the evidence of his dark nature. He was a scoundrel. He was a thief. He was the lowest form of human that could be made. The insults rolled through him one after the other, but no word seemed to adequately express his own guilt and hatred. Instead, he rode faster, pushing his horse beyond its limits as if they could outrun his thoughts. If only he rode a little faster. If only he were swifter, but the steed could only gallop so fast, and it was not enough.

It was reminiscent of the first time he had forced himself upon her to steal a kiss. This was much more sinister, however, and he pummeled through the corridors of the palace in search of his only release. He found her room easily enough, but he had not called on her in months since he had not needed her. He needed to forget, and he needed it then before the memory caught up to him. Ismene rose when he entered, and she immediately recognized the dark look strewn across his features. She knew what it meant for her, and a flicker of fear passed through her pale green eyes. She strained to remain calm and neutral and gently asked, "What have you done?" Her intent was to speak with him rather than becoming a victim of his desire, but she had no idea how poor her choice of words were. It was the same question that had been haunting him, and her simple utterance unleashed him. All at once, he threw her down on the bed and forced the material of her dress up around her waist. He was too impatient, too desperate to undress. In another second, he was on her, and she vainly struggled beneath his weight. It was no use considering his strength and reckless nature. He was not gentle or tender with her. When she pushed at his chest, he took her wrists and pinned them above her head, leaving her powerless to do anything.

"Stop," she pleaded. "This is not what you want." It was the truth, and he stared down at the defiant pale green eyes and halo of blonde hair spread out on the bed beneath them. Once more he was forcing himself on someone, but he hadn't intended for Ismene to fight him off. This was her purpose after all, and he needed it; but it was the wrong woman he needed. He had almost taken everything from her, and she would have allowed it. He had hurt her instead because he was a coward. He was too afraid of three innocent words.

"What do you want?" he growled out angrily, but it was more to the memory of her blue-green eyes than to the woman pinned beneath him. It was driving him out of his mind.

"Let me go," Ismene rejoined shakily. "I won't be with you like this."

Her words weren't registering within his mind, and he stared down at her with his expression shifting from pure, unadulterated anger to uncertainty and confusion. "I don't know what to do," he admitted beneath his breath, but as before, it wasn't directed to Ismene. It was one of the first times in his life that he felt lost and powerless. The memory of her eyes robbed him of his strength.

She relaxed somewhat and cautiously coaxed, "What happened?"

His brow furrowed, and his grip on her wrists tightened subconsciously while he remembered the admission that shot from her lips in a forceful gasp: 'I love you.' No one had told him those words ever before, and they filled him with dread and fear. It was too much. He grit his teeth and said painfully, "She loves me."

Ismene sighed and immediately understood the source of his distress. "You love her."

His eyes narrowed, and he nearly threw the woman from his side. "No!" he barked back irritably and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. "Leave me." Ismene hesitated only briefly, but it was not her place to speak candidly with this prince and certainly not while he was so unpredictable in his emotions. Instead, the blonde fled from the room and left Hector alone to brood. He placed the heel of his hand against his forehead and clenched his eyes closed. The sight was burned into the back of his lids so that even this provided him no relief. It haunted him because of his guilt. It haunted him because he had been given the chance to own up to the feelings that had been buried within him for years. As with his first battle, as with kissing her, as with everything he truly ever yearned for, he had hesitated, and it was killing him.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Hello, dolls! This is my gift to you on a sunny Monday morning :) I still have a week left before the first session of summer classes begin, so I am about to drive six hours to spend time with my boyfriend (yes, I am the best girlfriend ever haha). Thus, I probably won't update until Sunday or Monday of next week. I have a huge chunk of the next chapter written, and I know exactly what I want to happen so it's really just a matter of finding the time to sit down and do it! I usually wake up before my boyfriend so maybe I can get some writing done in the mornings or while he's studying. Fingers crossed because the next chapter is going to be grrrrreat! :D

Thank you as always to Avatar2009, KawaiiHawaiian, Syrena Swift, and AmyLNelson for the fantastic reviews!

Avatar: Do you hate me for this chapter? You told me the story about the guy in band that you liked, so I thought you'd relate to this with Myrina telling Hector she loves him and him not saying anything. Want to punch Hector in the nuts yet?... You want to eat my Hector in a naughty way? Ooohhh yea! I'm portraying him properly then! :D I'm glad you liked the camp scene. Honestly, I actually really like writing fight scenes, but it was like I had no patience for that one. I know that's a bad thing, but I was just like this really isn't super important soooo we'll do the always fun they're charging each other anddd I end it haha I hope you liked this chapter, gorgeous xoxo

Kawaii: Greetings Miss Dialogue Junkie! I was so bummed when I didn't have wireless at my parent's house because I knew I would have some time to sit down and read through your story which I really want to do! Once I get back in town for visiting the boyfriend, I'll have a few free days so I'll get to read, read, read :D I'm excited for you to make me fall in love with your improved Helen and manly Hector! I'm really glad you enjoyed the last chapter :) Well obviously this is how their reunion played out haha Hector has good intentions most of the time, but he's definitely not perfect. He'll figure it out though, I promise. As for Aeneas, he will still be around haha And Hector's engagement to Andromache will probably not happen how you guys are expecting it to (at least I hope not). It will not be fun to write, but I may let you guys have a hand in deciding Hector's fate down the line :D How's the rain? Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Syrena: Gurl don't mess with me like that! hahaha I was checking the reviews this morning, and I was like Syrena Swift? Evil twin of Rosie? No, just kidding! I like the new name :D I always tell the people at Starbucks a different name when I go and then hand them my card with my real name on it and dare them to say something about it ;) Would you prefer I call you Rosie or Syrena? OMG I didn't even think about having Andromache be in the wreckage... That's actually a brilliant idea. I'm not quite so clever haha Hector will meet Andromache in a few chapters in a much less exciting, unsurprising fashion. Damn you! Now I know this wasn't sexy sex, but I'm hoping that for a split second you were like 'dude, they're gunna do it!' haha PSYCHE! No I'm saving it for a later chapter which will be glorious and steamy and lengthy haha I hope you enjoyed this chapter, lovely! xoxo

Amy: Um yea my brother is really, really bad at impressions, and they only get worse the more he drinks. He also does an Australian impression. It's basically the same voice as the British one, but he just adds phrases like "throw another shrimp on the barbie, mate!" or "the dingo ate your baby!" And like I said, when it's his British impression, he just makes random Harry Potter references hahaha Yea it'll be awhile before Aeneas finds out, but hopefully you liked the reunion between Myrina and Hector, lovely! :D


	25. The Wolf

Chapter 24  
"The Wolf"

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Recommended Songs: "Angel" – Massive Attack & "The First Time" – U2

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Weightless she floated across the surface without touching the ground. Under the full moon's light, her vestal white dress and skin glowed as if reflecting the rays and acting like a beacon in the darkness. That same transparent white gown which had betrayed her so long ago barely skimmed her body and shone brightly, cutting through the darkness and calling him to her. The wood was dense and dark, and all was silent aside from her breath which came and went with a wordless urgency. She had followed this path many times before, and she knew what fate awaited her; but she pressed forward, driven by a force that she was powerless to fight. She felt his hungry eyes on her, slicing through the forest with ease, and they settled on her narrow form. All at once, her fear awoke from deep within her and crashed through her limbs to consume her, and she tried to run. Her bare feet were on the grass, but simultaneously she couldn't find the contact. Some invisible hand restrained her and held her in place though she tried desperately to flee from his presence, but by now, she knew that it was too late. Her heart beat unsteadily in her chest as she realized he would be on her at any moment. Agony and terror flooded her, but she could not move to defy him. Already he had hunted her down and captured her.

The darkness around her shifted restlessly, a wild creature unto itself, and it strained to engulf her and hide her away from the light. It was so heavy that it suffocated her with its pressure, but then she saw the two golden orbs of his eyes pierce through the sheer blackness. Her heart painfully came to a dead halt when the beast stepped out into the moonlight of the narrow opening in the trees and revealed its form in all its exquisite horror. The wolf was gargantuan with thick grey fur that glistened like quick silver beneath the light, constantly shifting, changing, moving with the darkness surrounding them. His coat glowed beneath the moonlight and illuminated his harrowing presence in the night. His gold eyes cut through her with such an intensity that they left her quivering in their wake, and his lips curled back slowly to reveal his pointed teeth in a menacing snarl. His taut muscles moved with a fluid elegance as the terrifyingly beautiful creature stalked along the edge of the trees before her, sizing up his prey and taunting her with his patience. His mere presence unlocked something deep within her, and somewhere beyond her control, her arms lifted from her sides. She reached for him.

At first, his head bowed to grant himself a better look at her, and he gauged her resolve before moving closer to meet her. Her fingers were buried in the thick fur surrounding his face and neck first, and he was so large that he was nearly as tall as her though still on all four of his legs. She lost her hands in the vast expanse of his silver coat, and she knelt before him to be on level with his dangerous eyes. They shifted beneath light, hinting at his desire, but she stroked his fur and licked her dry lips. She had no intention of retreating now. He had entranced her, and she would give him everything. Slowly his snout retracted against his face, his fur melted away, his figure effortlessly transformed, and she realized when he had accomplished his metamorphosis that her fingers were tangled in familiar dark brown curls. His golden eyes were all that remained as a constant reminder of the predator within, but for that moment, he was hers. Her hands slid from his head down his neck and across his broad shoulders, tracing and memorizing the contours of the familiar taut muscles lining his arms. Her eyes eagerly drank in the sight of his naked form before her where he knelt exposed and unashamed for her hungry gaze. Her heartbeat was deafening in her ears. The terror never left her, but a new deluge of anticipation flooded her narrow form with the undisclosed knowledge of what would happen this night. He was wild, unrestrained, and dangerous, and shadows traced the lines of his body against the moonlight, radiating off of him as if it were his very essence. Stunned, she admired the strength of his figure poised before her: every angle and contour was tempting and alluring.

His gaze silently beckoned her, and without hesitation, she lifted her chin and met his gold eyes. At the sight, the fear dissolved immediately from her, and a now familiar heat awoke deep in her abdomen and spread like wildfire through her limbs. His breath was warm on her face as he bent forward and leant his lips to hers. The tenderness of his kiss was deceiving and distracted her from the awareness of his purpose. She took hold of his face and drew him closer to her, encouraging him to take more of her. A strong arm slipped around her waist and drew her against his chest to steady her as he laid her back on the cool grass beneath him. She welcomed the weight of his form against her and wrapped her arms around his broad chest, holding him firmly in place to her, but she knew that he would not depart until his hunger was satiated. He paused then to grant her a flash of his golden orbs. Within them lay a warning of his true nature and a final chance to send him away. Willingly, she met his kiss without fear and matched the hunger and need behind it with her own.

He lifted away from her slightly to trace out the lines of her shape, trailing across her jaw, down her neck, over her collarbones, and continuing his descent. His rough fingertips on her skin left liquid fire in their wake, and she arched her back to grant him greater access to her. Acknowledging her approval, his mouth replaced his hands on her, and she twisted her fingers in his curls, digging her nails carelessly into the skin of his scalp to steady herself under the waves of ecstasy crashing through her. With his lips and tongue, he expertly coaxed the last of her will power away and left her defenseless to his every whim. He covered every inch of her available skin: nibbling, biting, kissing, licking, sucking, savoring the meal to come. She closed her eyes and moaned softly as he devoured her.

Then his calloused hands reached back and painstakingly drew the material of her dress up her legs. The roughness of his hands sent chills of pleasure up her spine when they met the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. Her back arched with more force at the sensation, and he allowed his nails to drag lightly back down the length of her legs as he taunted her. He made her want it, need it, beg for it. The wolf so cunningly trapped his prey and drew his thumb across the soft skin of her full lips where they were parted and beckoned for his kiss. She whimpered ever so softly when she felt the grain of his beard against the tender skin of her neck, and the warmth of his breath warned of the proximity of his mouth. Rather than shrinking from his lust, she rose to meet it and strained to force more contact between them by arching her back, reaching out to pull him closer, and restlessly moving her hips. At last, he took pity on her and drew his tongue down the notch between her collarbones, marking her as his own.

Her hips shifted impatiently beneath him, but he savored every ounce of her tender flesh as he moved into the valley of her breasts. Without hesitation she drew the fabric from her shoulders and off her arms to allow him all of her and lifted herself up onto her elbows to watch his lips caress her skin with all the gentleness of a lover. His gold eyes noticed her interest, and he was only too pleased to show her his prowess and skill. He dragged his lips across the curve with a patience that drove her crazy, but soon his teeth took hold of the hardened skin. His tongue flicked across the bud, and her head dropped back between her shoulders while she moaned loudly. She lifted her hips and rocked them against his, and her body begged him to take every piece of her and have his fill. He growled deep in his throat as he felt her moving beneath him, and her eyes lit up with delight at his reaction.

In a second, he forced her flat on her back and hovered above her with the dark urgency of his purpose revealed fully in the lines of his handsome face. The wolf in his endless desire would devour her and leave nothing but the bones. Without hesitation, she parted her legs and granted him access to her every piece of her, and she held her breath expectantly when she felt his hips slide between her inner thighs. His eyes did not stray from her face when he moved swiftly, but she threw her head back as she arched her spine in response to the pleasure recklessly crashing through her. It was a sweet surrender allowing him to take her for his own pleasure, and she dug her nails into the grass beneath them in an attempt to steady herself. Her eyes closed against the force he exerted on her, crashing into her roughly and carelessly, but her mouth moaned out her approval. His every movement was wild and hungry, and she wavered somewhere between complete satisfaction and torture. He lit her body on fire beneath him, and the simultaneous heat of pleasure and pain was more than she could bear.

Under the shadow of night, they were one, irreverently baptized by the moonlight. Her body quivered beneath him, and with every thrust, he made her feel more alive than ever. She welcomed each swift movement, heard every breathless gasp, felt the heat lining their joined bodies in contrast to the cool grass at her back, and eagerly met his gold eyes which bore into her and kept her from fleeing her fate. Under his guidance, he coaxed her to the edge of her own desire, and all at once she jumped and gave in fully to her all-consuming need. Simultaneously, his teeth tore open her throat, and he lapped at the warm, red liquid, killing her softly with each passing moment. The thick blood trailed over her collarbones, down her chest, and to the gathered white material of her dress, but even the pain couldn't compete with the end he pushed her to. Her back arched further against his strong form as if she could fade into him completely, and a feeling of ultimate satisfaction flooded her and left her trembling in the darkness of its wake.

In the twilight before the break of day, he had mercilessly taken all as promised, and her prince surrendered to the wolf and left her. They would never see a dawn that could break the curse surrounding them. Their condemned love could only be realized in the shadows of the night where they could hide from the light of day. She was left alone then to nurse the tattered remains of her body for he had devoured her soul and taken her heart for a trophy.

—

As her fever overcame her, Myrina slipped in and out of consciousness so often that she failed to recognize what was real and what was of her imagination. Every night that she slept, she dreamt the same thing: Hector coming to her as a wolf to take everything from her; and every night she welcomed him with open arms. How long it had been since their last meeting was unknown to her. All she knew was that some time after he left, this seemingly innocent, insignificant illness had first plagued her, but now it was far more sinister. At first, the symptoms had been normal. She was weary at all hours despite how much sleep she had, and her muscles ached; but she had pushed herself to maintain her chores and to take care of her family. She was never one to be ill, and it hadn't seemed too dangerous. Then, somehow the weariness permeated through her days, and she became increasingly more and more nauseous until she had an aversion to eating or drinking anything. Unfortunately, by the time she realized how much of her strength had waned from the illness and lack of nourishment, it was too late. Her body would no longer accept anything so that even when she forced herself to eat or drink something, she would be rid of it only a short time later. This was undoubtedly what was killing her so slowly, and honestly, she felt as though she were waiting to die.

Another wave of nausea came over her, and she frowned deeply, struggling to ignore it. It was too soon after the previous one, but on this night, she seemed to be waking every hour in response to her sickness. The only way to calm it was to force herself. "Korina," she groaned out pitifully through her raspy throat. There was no sound signaling her friend's approach. Evidently it wasn't loud enough, and she tried again, "Korina!"

Only a few seconds later, the woman appeared in the doorway, and the moment she saw Myrina's contorted, pale features, she knew why she had been called. "Again?" she asked and shook her head in obvious disapproval.

"Please," Myrina begged and reached out for the other woman. Reluctantly, Korina approached the bed and helped Myrina sit up and stand. Bearing the majority of her weight, Korina helped Myrina slowly drag her feet one by one over to where the pot was located. Then Myrina carefully knelt, and Korina held back her hair with one hand while steadying her with the other. As was usual at that stage in her illness, her body had no desire to vomit since there had been nothing to offer in days, but it was the only way Myrina had found to stop the nausea. Still, she waited, dreading how she would feel by forcing herself. At the thought, she groaned and shook her head while rocking herself gently back and forth. The rocking calmed her stomach for some reason, but she was so weak that she could only shift her weight for so long before she grew tired.

When minutes passed without any improvements, Korina softly asked, "Could you try to drink some water?"

"I can't," she answered immediately despite how thirsty she was. "You know what will happen."

"You should try. You need to drink some water or..."

"I know."

"Please try for me." Myrina sighed in return and reluctantly nodded her head. Korina nearly sprinted from the room and called back, "I will only be a moment." Myrina knew this routine well enough since Korina and Isidora alternated convincing her. She understood that she needed to drink and that Korina and Isidora were only doing it out of love, but she simply couldn't keep it down. As promised, a second later Korina returned with a full cup and set it down beside Myrina's weak form. A full cup of water seemed too optimistic, but Myrina didn't comment on it. Instead, she reached out to grasp the cup, and her arm shook weakly as she lifted it to her lips. Initially, she stared at it as though she could conquer it without truly having to engulf it. "You only need to drink a little," Korina coaxed from behind her. Myrina grimaced and took a small sip, feeling the cool liquid slide down her dry throat and settle in her empty stomach. She wished she could drink the entire cup as well as twenty more since she was so parched, but she knew how much more that would affect her. As it was, the one bead of water became more and more noticeable in her gut as though her body were acknowledging the alien substance inside it. The nausea grew progressively, and Myrina groaned in warning. "Don't," Korina immediately said but took hold of Myrina's hair to be safe. "Hold on a bit longer. If you only wait a moment longer, it will pass."

"I can't," she gasped through the tightening in her throat, and then it came, pummeling in a tidal wave through her narrow frame all the way from the tip of her spine up through the crown of her head. Her body similarly contorted and rocked while her insides clenched so tightly it hurt. She couldn't breathe or move, and there went the water mingled with the pale, foamy liquid from her stomach. Her muscles pushed it out with every piece of the waning strength they had; and it seemed to be an eternity before they released, and she was able to breathe once more. She gasped for breath as though she had been submerged under water, but another wave was already brewing on the horizon. Once more it tore through her, and her every single muscle contracted until the last of the water was gone. In its wake, the nausea had disappeared, but that was not the end. In her exhaustion, Myrina fell onto her hip and caught herself before anything else could meet the floor. Only a moment later, however, her arm gave out, and she collapsed completely onto her side. Yet again, her muscles tightened all over her body, squeezing painfully around the bones, and she began shivering uncontrollably against the cold floor.

Korina knelt beside her and rubbed at her slender arms while cooing soothingly, "It's over. Breathe. You need to breathe." The shivering had come a short while after she had stopped eating, and it came and went periodically. It wasn't simply because she was cold: it came without reason, and she was powerless to stop it. Thus, she shook all over for several minutes later, but the shivering stopped. A few lingering bouts remained, but soon Myrina relaxed against the floor. She felt too exhausted to stand and walk back to her bed. This acknowledgment only made her realize that it wouldn't be long before she was unable to make this simple trip at all. Korina stroked her arm and murmured, "You cannot sleep here... You can make it back to your bed."

"Give me a moment," Myrina pleaded in barely a whisper, and she was still struggling to catch her breath. At length, Korina began pushing her damp curls back from her face, and all was quiet aside from Myrina's shaky breathing.

"Are you ready?" Korina asked after some time had passed, and Myrina weakly nodded her head. In response, Korina took her hands and helped her sit up before grasping her beneath her arms and lifting her. Though Myrina was a petite woman and weighed even less in her current state, she was little help to Korina who struggled to place Myrina on her feet. Myrina feared Korina would exert herself too much, and she used every piece of tattered strength to brace herself as they made their way back to her bed. Once there, Myrina slowly lay down on her side, and Korina drew the sheet around her shoulders. Myrina was winded by the short journey, and already her lids were heavy from her exhaustion and weariness. Korina adjusted the sheet around her to be sure it covered her entirely while asking, "Do you need anything?"

"No. Thank you," she murmured and readjusted her position, careful not to stir the nausea again.

"Call for me if you need me. I will only be down the hall."

"Thank you," she repeated, and Korina excused herself. Now alone, Myrina closed her eyes and focused on her erratic heartbeat and breath. She struggled to calm both, but it was a difficult task to manage -especially with her weariness settling in. It wasn't long until she slipped away into her subconscious and found herself treading a familiar, dark path out into the woods where he was waiting for her.

* * *

"You must be faster, Paris," Hector growled out in frustration. His patience had long since bowed out, and he glared at his younger sibling who seemed far too distracted that afternoon for his liking. Paris grimaced at being corrected for the umpteenth time that day and swallowed down a rude retort. After all, Hector was armed, and he knew well enough of his older brother's short-temper. The tall Trojan prince began pacing restlessly in front of Paris and barked, "Are you even trying?"

"Yes!" Paris finally cried out in return. The sweat slipped down his slender frame without pause, and he wiped at the beads accumulating on his brow. "I am exhausted, brother."

"You wouldn't be if you had kept up your training while I was gone. Do you want this, or am I wasting my time?" Hector knew he was being too blunt with his fragile younger brother, but as far as he was concerned, Paris needed to toughen up. Life was not all stories and poetry and love. He frowned deeply as the last word crossed his mind, and he attempted to shrug off the memory. Once more, she caused sleepless nights for him, and he felt tormented night and day over what he had done –or rather what he hadn't. "Try harder!" he finally yelled to distract himself, and he stood poised for Paris to attack him.

The younger man sighed while gathering his wits about him and lunged at his brother. Hector easily sidestepped the attack and hit Paris in the chest with the butt of his practice sword. Paris stumbled backward and placed a hand to his chest which burned now from the force of the blow. He glared up at Hector, and he felt such overwhelming anger and frustration toward his brother in that moment. Without hesitation, he swung up across Hector's chest, but the other man was always barely out of his reach no matter how fast he was or how hard he tried. Hector was always better. The acknowledgment of this fact only aggravated Paris further, and he attacked with more fervor. Hector placed his leg behind his brother's knees, elbowed him backward, and knelt beside him with his blade at his neck when Paris fell flat on his back. Usually that would be the end of it, but Paris was still too annoyed. He abandoned his sword, swung back, and punched Hector right beneath his eye. The older prince stood immediately and placed a hand to his face while Paris scrambled to his feet to face his brother. It was a good shot, but Hector was more angered that Paris had managed to land a blow. Hector should have been untouchable. He advanced on his brother whose face fell as Paris undoubtedly realized he had made a grave mistake. Paris backed away, but there was nowhere for him to run. Inevitably, Hector grabbed Paris' robes and threw the young man back several feet. Paris landed roughly on his back, but all the wind had been knocked from his lungs. He struggled to regain his wits and rise to his feet, but Hector was already looming over him. Paris attempted to maintain his composure, but his older brother was terrifying when angry. It was only a question of how he would take it out on Paris.

Hector's chest rose and fell rapidly beneath his drawn breath, and his hands were clenched into fists at his sides; but staring down at his young, witless, impulsive brother, he lost his desire to beat his face into a pulp. There was no satisfaction to be had in besting someone so much weaker than him, and reluctantly, he held out his hand to his brother. Paris didn't seem to trust the action at first, and Hector impatiently stuck his hand out further, wordlessly encouraging Paris to take it. It was a gesture of peace, but that didn't mean Hector still didn't want to break his younger sibling's nose. He was simply being the more mature man even though doing so was incredibly irritating. Finally, Paris grasped his brother's hand, and Hector pulled him up to his feet.

"That's enough for today," he said and turned away to walk back to the palace. "Put all of this away before you leave." Paris was too stunned by his brother's sudden change of heart to complain about being left to clean up. Thus, he was silent as he watched Hector walk away.

Hector ran a hand through his damp curls to push them out of his face as he made his way through the crowded marketplace. Despite himself, his chestnut eyes were drawn to a particular stand situated next to an alleyway that would lead back to the washing area. Even the marketplace of Troy reminded him of her: everything reminded him of her. She had permeated his life so easily, so completely, and now being without her left him uneasy and confused. It had been nearly two weeks since their last disastrous encounter, and every day, he was weighed down by the burden of what he must do if he wanted her back. He needed to apologize, and he needed to be honest as she had always expected him to be; but that was far easier said than done. He was more accustomed to swallowing his pride with her considering all the idiotic things he had done or said to her over the years, but this was different. This was beyond anything he had anticipated, or anything he knew how to handle. Why did she have to say anything? Why did she have to force this to his attention? He was a soldier first and foremost. He was not prepared for that sort of an exchange. What could she possibly expect from him? A more troubling thought that plagued him was how could she love _him_? After everything he had put her through that was the last thing she should feel toward him. He was too short-tempered, he was gone too often to fight at war, he pushed her too far on numerous occasions… Remembering those sincere blue-green eyes, he didn't feel worthy of them. He didn't feel that he deserved her.

At that moment, his gaze settled on a familiar face. Considering the magnitude of thoughts weighing over him, it took him a moment to focus on the features and grant the sour face a name: Isidora. With the recognition came a renewed sense of guilt, and he frantically looked around the marketplace for any sign of the old servant's lady. He was unable to locate her, and that made him feel more anxious as though there were some danger in her seeing him first. Perhaps he worried that she would flee and not speak with him, but if he could find her, then he would corner her and somehow fix what he had done. Still, there was no sight of her, and without hesitation, he maneuvered over toward the old woman. Once she noticed the tall prince approaching her, her mouth curved downward, and she readjusted the basket on her arm so that she could reach up and tug her grey veil forward further. It was too late since Hector had already picked her out, but she evidently would not face him without exhausting all other options. Of course Hector was much faster than her so she couldn't literally flee from him, and he soon was standing in front of her.

"Where is she?" he snapped, too impatient to be polite.

"Not here," Isidora rejoined and stepped around him to continue on her path.

"She did not accompany you?" he clarified, and his doubt was evident in his tone.

"No." The woman offered no more, but Hector did not surrender so easily.

"Where is she then?"

"Home."

"Why did she not come with you?" Isidora grumbled and glared up at Hector for continuing to pester her, and only then did he notice the lines in her faces were magnified tenfold most likely due to lack of sleep if the dark circles under her eyes were any indication. For some reason, that detail stood out to him, and his gaze drifted down to consider the contents of her basket. It was nothing but medicinal herbs and potions. The pieces fit easily together in his head, and he pressed, "Is she ill?"

"What concern is it of yours?" the old woman shot back. "I saw how you left her last time. If you wish her well, leave her be."

For the moment, Hector ignored the jab and continued, "What is wrong? How long has she been ill?"

Staring up into his concerned face, Isidora reluctantly bit back any further remarks about his faulty character and the adverse effect he was having on Myrina and answered him honestly, "Almost a fortnight."

"What ails her?" His brow furrowed deeply at this news, and all the other thoughts plaguing his mind dissipated without hesitation.

Isidora would not normally be so candid with the prince, but Myrina's health had been a major concern of hers as of late. She was unable to censor herself entirely or keep her emotions out of it. "I'm not sure... I've seen nothing like it." She sighed and glanced up at Hector who was waiting expectantly for every piece of information Isidora was willing to give him. The sight of his earnest expression caused her to softly admit, "You may wish to see her... in case."

In a second, an invisible hand gripped his gut and tied it up in knots, and he bent closer as he asked, "In case of what?"

Isidora exhaled shakily and swallowed against a lump in her throat. It formed every time she thought of what fate awaited the young woman who was the closest thing she had to a daughter. There was no need to lie, and she responded, "She has not eaten or drank anything in four days. She can't. Her body won't hold it."

"Four days," he repeated beneath his breath as his mind wrapped around the drear reality of what this meant. How long could men last without food or water? In their arid climate, it was a well known necessity to stay nourished and hydrated. The heat of the days was dangerous for even seasoned, burly farmers. In contrast, he thought of how fragile and petite she was. How long would she last? There was fear in Isidora's eyes, and she had vaguely hinted at what fate awaited Myrina in her current condition. "No," he said suddenly and grabbed her arm. He hadn't meant to speak it aloud, but it had resonated so powerfully through him. Nothing would happen to her. He wouldn't allow it. "Are returning now?"

"Yes. I need to bring these medicines back to her. Perhaps one will work thi-"

"I'll take you," he interrupted and ignored the confused look Isidora granted him. "Quickly. We have no time." With that, he pulled her away toward the palace, nearly dragging her behind him with his brusque, long strides, but he had no patience whatsoever. He was on a mission, and nothing would stop him.

—

Hours later he nervously paced up and down the hallway while Isidora was seated in a chair which she had pulled near the door. Occasionally he would pause before the door and listen, but for a long time, there was nothing to be heard. When his nerves inevitably returned, he would begin pacing yet again with Isidora watching him repeat the pattern over and over again, crowding the narrow space with his burly frame.

"Would you sit down?" she finally snapped and motioned toward the second chair she had situated in the hallway. "You will drive me mad."

Hector shot her a glare but continued his pacing since it was the only option he had to dispel his anxiety in that moment. "How much longer will he be?" he grumbled irritably and paused yet again in front of the door.

Isidora made a point to sigh heavily from his right and rubbed at her temples as if her aversion to his pacing was any mystery at that point. "Sit," she commanded a final time.

Reluctantly, Hector took the seat and crossed his arms over his chest. Not a moment later his heel began bouncing, moving his whole left leg in the process, and his face darkened as he considered what could possibly be going on within the confines of the room. He understood why he and Isidora were not to interrupt the examination, but he swore he had been in that hallway for hours now. "Maybe I should go in."

"Sit," Isidora repeated in annoyance. "Let him work without interruption. Myrina needs his undivided attention."

The comment silenced Hector for the time, but he abandoned the seat once more and began pacing restlessly in front of the door. Barely a moment passed before the door cracked open, and Eumolpus slipped out into the hallway. Immediately, Hector and Isidora crowded around him to hear what news he brought of the ill young woman. "How is she?" Hector pried anxiously.

"She will be well, but you were right to have called me here. A few more days, and it may have been too late for me to be of any aid," he said earnestly. The thought made the prince's insides turn, and he glanced through the cracked door where he could faintly make out the lines of her legs covered by a thin sheet.

"What ails her?" Isidora asked.

"I can only assume there is some underlying illness, but now it is mainly a lack of food and water," he explained. "I gave her a potion to help with the nausea. It will make her sleep, and she needs to rest. You may give it to her no more than four times a day. Anymore, and it may irritate her and have the opposite effect..." He continued giving Isidora all the details on how to properly care for Myrina, and Hector did his best to listen. However, he continually looked toward the cracked door, clearly yearning to see for himself how she was faring. "You can see her now, my lord." The sentence caused him to return his attention to Eumolpus, and the latter encouraged him, "You may sit with her. She is resting." Rather than feeling embarrassed at being caught staring into the room, he pushed the door open and stepped inside to finally face her for the first time since arriving.

The sight of her momentarily robbed him of his strength and resolve to face her. In the dim lighting, her skin was of a pale, sickly pallor which hinted at the life slowly slipping away from her. Her cheeks were slightly sunken, and the skin surrounding her eyes was noticeably darker. Her hair was fanned out across her pillow, but a few stray pieces stuck to her damp skin around her forehead and on her shoulders. After the initial shock wore off, he numbly approached her, and a dull sound became more apparent as he grew closer. With each shallow breath she drew, there was a faint rattling and wheezing, and her pale lips were parted slightly to suck in the air. For the moment, Hector was unsure how to react. Somehow he had expected seeing her to dispel his nervous energy, but it swarmed restlessly around him, contracting around his chest until it was difficult to breathe. He had not anticipated this, and he felt blindsided by the realization of how far gone she actually was. He had known, but actually seeing it resonated on an entirely different level. Time became irrelevant as he stood beside her and struggled to decipher his feelings, but then her eyes wearily fluttered open. Even the blue-green orbs which had always betrayed the vibrant nature within her were lackluster, a dull flickering compared to their usual fire. It was like a knife to his chest, and all the air was sucked from his lungs.

Her eyes focused on his face, and then she lifted an arm to reach for him. It drooped slightly in the air as though fighting gravity were a near impossible task for her. He immediately sat on the edge of the bed, took her arm, and kissed the palm of her hand which was reaching for his face. Her fingers curled slightly to graze his beard, and she asked in a raspy whisper, "Are you real?"

It was the last thing he expected her to ask, and it only proved how far she was drifting away from reality. He held onto her hand tighter and promised, "Yes."

"I dreamt of you," she continued for the vision had been haunting her all day, every minute whether she was conscious or otherwise. When she first saw his face, she expected to be met with golden eyes, but he was a mere man and not the creature of her fantasy.

"I hope it was a good dream," Hector teased with a gentle smile since he was unsure how else to respond.

"You came to me as a wolf," she murmured while staring intently up at him, and his eyes narrowed for something in the tone of her voice caught his attention; or perhaps her words merely intrigued him. For whatever reason, his chestnut eyes gazed down at her, and she hated him for his neutrality at that moment. She could not read his emotions.

"How did you know it was me?" he wondered cautiously. The look in her eyes and tone of her voice apparently had him uncertain of her intent.

She had been painstakingly retrieving every detail of the dream from her memory, and she inspected his lips, the angles of his form, and the look of his eyes, hopefully searching for any sign of the wolf. "You revealed yourself to me."

Her words left some ambiguity, and he clarified, "I spoke with you?"

She slowly shook her head. "You changed shape before me from the wolf to yourself." Finally, he granted her some sign of emotion, but it was not much. He merely lifted his brow slightly to show interest or maybe surprise. Still, she could not understand his thoughts, and she so desperately wanted a peek inside his head. Did he think it was silly dream, or could he see the desire pulsating through her without pause? Her body ached from an unfulfilled need, and her skin was heated whether she was in the shade or not, leaving her skin dewy with sweat. Her heart beat swiftly though he only sat beside her. The proximity of the man who had come to her in a dream and unleashed something within her made her simultaneously anxious, excited, and uncertain. She did not think she could express it to him, and she understood how inappropriate it was. Yet there she was feeding him clues as if guiding him toward the conclusion.

"Did you fear me?" he asked suddenly though he was no longer looking at her any more and instead inspected their joined hands where they were resting on the bed.

"Yes," she admitted and wet her lips while staring up at his handsome profile. "At first, but then I wasn't afraid."

"Because it was me?"

She hadn't necessarily considered why her fear left. She had assumed there was no more room for any other emotion in her body after what he stirred within her. "Yes."

He nodded his head, but his brow was slightly furrowed as though he were attempting to make sense of her dream as well. "You think of me as a wolf," he murmured pensively.

"You were beautiful," she assured him, and this caught his attention so that his gaze slid over to her once more. "You were silver with gold eyes, and bigger than any wolf. You were almost as tall as me."

He smiled then and pointed out, "That is not so large."

Even when she was serious, he managed to tease her somehow, but she was in no mood for it. "When you were yourself, you still had gold eyes."

Hector wasn't sure how to respond, and he simply squeezed her hand and said, "You should rest."

Myrina's lids were falling lower and lower with every passing second, and the prospect of sleep seemed so alluring. Still, she wished she could stay awake and speak with Hector for longer. "Will you stay with me?" she asked softly. "I've missed you." The details of their past encounter seemed so insignificant in that moment, and she was simply happy he was near her and with her.

Once more, he promised, "Yes." The word had barely left his lips before her features relaxed, and she slipped away. As far as he was concerned, nothing would tear him away and cause him to break his promise. He held her hand with his resolve increasing, but it turned like the tide to remind him of his unyielding concern and fear. Realizing the latter, he frowned somewhat and was forced to acknowledge that he was afraid. It was not an emotion the prince typically perceived, and he struggled with its unusual presence inside of him. His mind seemed to wonder, 'Why are you feeling this?' Only a moment later it dawned on him. He was afraid to lose her. She had been in his life since they were children, and their time together seemed unfinished. He wasn't prepared to let go so soon, and subconsciously his grip on her hand tightened. What would he do without her? Never before had he been faced with the power she had on him and the place she had in his life. Who would he speak with? Who would he visit?

The realization weighed down on him, and he struggled to abandon his guarded nature and be honest. "I-" The words evaded him, and he dropped his head to consider their joined hands yet again. It was easier if he didn't look at her even if she were asleep. "I never felt alone until I met you." The thought had occurred to him while he was south fighting off the uprising. He had always been on his own, and he had never felt remiss about his independence and self-sufficiency. In fact, he felt proud that he never needed anyone. Then somehow she slipped into his life, and when without her, he consulted the golden pin if only to remind himself of her and feel some connection to her. Honestly, it scared him feeling attached to someone especially now that she might leave him. It was absolutely terrifying, and it was yet another emotion Hector was not accustomed to facing. He drew in a steadying breath and pressed on, "I would change if I could." His head bent lower while he silently recalled all the times he had upset her or treated her poorly. "I would never hurt you again."

His heart stopped when he felt her squeeze his hand, and he swallowed down his fear as he reluctantly lifted his gaze to see her peering up at him with a soft smile. Had she heard him? He had thought she was asleep. He held his breath, not knowing how to explain himself, but it wasn't necessary. In barely a whisper, she uttered five words which would resonate with him forever, "I never asked you to change."

It hit him like a blow to the face, and he exhaled shakily through his nostrils while the recognition pummeled through him. Long ago she had asked him to be honest and to be himself. Even at his worst, she had accepted him, and he clenched his jaw against the strong emotion now spreading from his abdomen out through his veins. He felt loved. All his life, he had strived to be the crown prince everyone expected him to be. He had hidden his imperfections, masked his true feelings, and run from anything that might make risk his resolve. Yet there she had been, an escape where he didn't have to plan out his every word or act a certain way. He was able to be, and perhaps that was why she gave him such peace and relief from his life. No one had ever accepted him, both the good and the bad, and he suddenly wanted to be better for her. He wanted to be someone worthy of her love. She made him want to be a better man.

"I'm sorry," he admitted earnestly, and though it was late, she seemed to understand that he was referencing his last visit. "I should have told you-"

"I know." She squeezed his hand and rubbed her thumb over his skin. "You don't have to say it."

At that second, a hand was on his shoulder, and he nearly jumped out of his skin since he had momentarily forgotten there was anything beyond the two of them. He turned to see Isidora standing behind him, and he glared at her for interrupting them. "Her father and brother will be home soon," she said, and for once, there was no malice in her tone. "You need to leave."

"No," he countered flatly.

"You can't let them find out this way," she pressed.

He opened his mouth to retort, but Myrina spoke up from behind him, "Go." He considered her with a darkened expression, and she granted him a bittersweet smile. "I don't want my father to see us like this." He sighed, torn between remaining by her side or giving into their joint reason. Some part of him feared leaving her in the event that she would not get better. She seemed to read his thoughts and promised, "I will be well soon. Visit me again, and you will see." Despite himself, he stood without releasing her hand and still sought out the resolve to leave her side. "Go," she repeated encouragingly, but the smile disappeared from her features, granting him a glimpse at her own reluctance.

"I will see you soon," he said and bent to kiss her dewy forehead. "Be well."

"I will."

Reluctantly, he let go, and Isidora coaxed him to the doorway. He glanced back at her before he turned the corner, but her eyes were closed so that he was unable to meet her gaze. His body suddenly felt leaden, but he met Eumolpus outside where the two horses were already awaiting their departure. The pair mounted their steeds, and he hesitated with his horse restlessly moving beneath him as he gazed back at the home. There was still time for him to return and see her once more.

"Quickly!" Isidora warned from nearby.

All at once, he dug his heels into the sides of his horse, and Eumolpus matched his pace as they galloped out of the village. The woman with chocolate curls who had housed Aeneas when injured stood outside of her home, watching the riders pass with a frown of simultaneous confusion and curiosity. Hector glanced at her as they passed and met her gaze, but he quickly looked away and pushed his horse on faster. Without thinking, he had revealed his identity and risked exposing his relationship with Myrina. He had not been thinking logically and mentally chastised himself for slipping. Hopefully she would not piece together his presence and Myrina's illness, but it seemed the only possible result. He glanced back over his shoulder to see her crossing the village toward Myrina's home, and he gritted his teeth, praying she would not cause trouble for Myrina; but for the moment, there was nothing further that he could do. He rode to Troy, but he swore he would return as soon as he could.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Hello dolls! It's soooo good to be home :) Again, I'm sorry of the delay, but I was enjoying my meager two weeks of summer haha

Thank you to Avatar2009, Syrena Swift, AmyLNelson, and KawaiiHawaiian for the lovely reviews! You guys are awesome :D

Avatar: Perhaps after this chapter your stance on hitting Hector in the balls has changed? hahaha He's going to do his best to be a lot better after this since he's realized how much she means to him and how much he needs her. I hope you liked this chapter. I hoped it wasn't too abrupt after the last one, but he just needed something to kick him in the pants :) Thanks for the review as always! xoxo

Syrena: Was I a cock block with the last chapter? Sorry for the psyche! But as I promised, the next time will be for reals, and it will be awesome (at least I hope so!). Hector's fail... that was such a hilarious way to put it. Epic fail, Hector. Epic fail! He kinda manned up this chapter even if he was getting in touch with his emotions, but hopefully you still liked it! :D

Amy: Gurrrlll you reviewed as I was proofreading the last chapter haha I was like she must be psychic and know I'm about to upload this one! After all, you have already pretty much read my mind and know where I'm going even if you don't know what the heck is going on with Aeneas... I still believe in your psychic abilities! I hope you liked this chapter, gorgeous ;)

Kawaii: Yea hormone spree. That's exactly how I wanted it to be, so I'm glad you felt it was that way. And of course Hector being a guy and kinda pushing the boundaries and then fleeing the scene when feelings came into the picture. He was a bit of a sweetie this chapter :) Thanks for continuing to read, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter xoxo


	26. Revelation

Chapter 25  
"Revelation"

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Recommended Songs: "Radioactive" – Kings of Leon & "Frisky (feat. Labrinth)" – Tinie Tempah

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Barely a moment after the prince had left, Korina stepped through the entry of the home and made her way to the kitchen where she knew Isidora would be. The old servant was currently taking stock of their food to decide what to prepare for supper and what she needed to buy from the market later that week when she peered up at Korina who was quietly standing in the doorway. Her visit was unexpected, but she often appeared unannounced since Myrina had become ill to help care for her. Thus, Isidora thought nothing of her presence until she noticed a strange air about the young, pregnant woman who hesitated expectantly in the kitchen without speaking a word. There was a tense energy wafting off of her, and the way she held her tongue only made Isidora assume she had something important to say. She had seen her fair share of odds and ends in her long years of life, and she had little patience to waste anymore of it waiting for Korina to gather her courage.

"Spit it out," she grumbled.

Korina shifted her weight from foot to foot, testing out each stance as though searching for the proper position to deliver her words. At length, she commented uneasily, "I saw the prince riding out of the village."

Isidora's wrinkled features drooped down slightly lower, but the old woman barely skipped a beat as she feigned ignorance and rejoined, "What brings him here?"

"He had the healer with him," Korina pressed willfully, staring Isidora down with every ounce of courage she had.

Clearly she had pieced together the truth, but that didn't mean Isidora would give in so easily. She knew how important this secret was to keep, and her gaze flickered down the hallway while she thought of an appropriate response to throw Korina off the scent. "That is strange… I hope you are here to see to Myrina. I must begin supper, and she would enjoy your company." With that, she wiped her hands on the edge of her dress and set about gathering the appropriate materials for their meal. "Perhaps we can convince her to eat a little."

Korina moved forward through the small space, literally forcing herself further into the conversation which she had no intention of dropping yet. She was not so simple minded as to believe the prince and healer's presences and Myrina's increasing illness were completely coincidental. After all, he had stayed here the night before returning to Troy with the Dardanian Prince Aeneas. He must know of Myrina. Her intuition was humming within her, and somehow she simply knew. Still, she wanted Isidora's confirmation before approaching Myrina. Her gentle nature kept her from being too blunt, and she stepped around the words while asking, "Why would the prince bring the healer here? He must have visited someone."

"I suppose so," Isidora admitted, retaining her charade.

"Who could he possibly wish to see? Who could he know?" There was a pause where the rhetorical questions lingered in the air between them, purposely unanswered. Korina was not one to force information out of someone, and she felt incredibly uncomfortable as she continued, "Did he not stay the night here some time ago when the Dardanian prince was healing?"

By then, Isidora knew it was too late, and her defensive nature surfaced, causing her to glare steadily at the young woman. Korina immediately ducked her head to avoid the look, and Isidora was well aware she was the stronger willed of the two. She gave Korina one final chance to drop the subject by warning, "Do not ask questions when you are not prepared for the answers."

Reluctantly, the young woman glanced up and placed a hand across her growing abdomen. "Myrina kept my secret… I can do the same of hers."

Isidora's beady eyes narrowed while considering the hand pressed against Korina's stomach, but then she looked up into Korina's sincere gaze and decided, "What do you wish to know?"

Suddenly the gates to this secret were unlocked before her, and her heart raced excitedly. "Did he come for Myrina?"

"Yes."

It was the answer she intuitively knew, but hearing it confirmed stunned her momentarily. A long list of questions filled up her mind, and she found herself caught up choosing which to voice next. "Why?"

"He wished to help."

Isidora purposely gave vague, unspecific answers as a final guard, but Korina was simply happy the old servant answered her honestly at all. "Are they…?" The unfinished thought trailed off, but Isidora gave her a neutral gaze, testing her to see if she had the courage to finish her question. Korina seemed to realize Isidora wouldn't answer it until she spoke the remainder. Once more she tried, fumbling for the proper, delicate words, "Are they… _involved_?"

Isidora's eye twitched subtly, and she turned away while nonchalantly responding, "Perhaps."

Admittedly, Korina was growing frustrated that she could not receive a straight answer for the old woman. All at once, she turned on her heel and began her journey down the hallway, intending to find her answers one way or another. Mainly it was a bluff, and she was shaking slightly with her newfound determination and resolve; but Isidora took the bait. "Stop!" she hissed from behind, and Korina paused to see if their power struggle had final ceased. The servant frowned deeply as she noted her only options and ultimately surrendered. "Do not pester her with your questions. You shouldn't upset her right now, you nosey girl! Shame on you."

"Answer me truthfully and fully," Korina countered without moving, allowing the threat of her waking Myrina to still be present.

Isidora huffed irritably with a wave of her hand, "Yes."

The young woman hesitated, unsure whether it was an answer to her previous question or an agreement to her command. "Yes?"

In annoyance, Isidora clarified, "Yes, they are involved."

Despite her suspicions, it still shocked her all the same, and her mouth opened though not a word would come out. For tense seconds, she was silent as the information weaved its way through her mind and settled uncomfortably there. It seemed so impossible, so foreign, so unacceptable, but Isidora's features held no lies. "That night?"

"Longer."

"Before then?"

Isidora sighed beneath her breath and placed her hands on her rounded hips. "Before their mother died."

Korina's brow knit, and she struggled to grasp the length of time. "How old was sh-"

"Eight."

Reflecting her thoughts, her gaze travelled back down the hallway toward the room which housed her friend. Mentally, she considered Myrina's age and the consequent time that the prince and she must have known each other. "Do her father and brothers know?"

"No, and they will not know until she wishes it." The unspoken threat hung from her every word, and Korina's reaction was delayed as she processed the news.

After a moment, she nodded her head firmly and promised, "I won't speak a word."

"Good." Since it was settled, Isidora returned to her place behind the kitchen table where she finished gathering what was needed for their meal.

Korina still stood in the hallway and desired nothing more than to see her friend and receive her answers on the matter. "I should check on Myrina."

"Do not speak of this with her. She needs to rest."

"I won't," Korina reluctantly promised and stepped into the room. Myrina had no need to be bothered by her questions, but Korina was nearly buzzing with excitement to discuss the matter further. She resolved that when Myrina was well enough, she would broach the subject.

* * *

"My lord," one of the servants called from down the corridor where Hector was returning to his room. Initially, the prince was too caught up in his thoughts to recognize the call, and the servant repeated in a louder tone, "My lord."

Finally, he turned to face the man who bowed before him. "What is it?"

"Your father calls for you to join him in the throne hall."

Hector grumbled beneath his breath at being called so late in the afternoon and adjusted his course to see precisely what his father needed. Mentally he ran through the past few days to be sure he had done nothing to warrant his father's attention, but no particular action stood out in his mind. Thus, he began considering the other reasons he might be called: politics or war matters. The latter seemed unlikely since they had quelled the uprising in the south nearly a month earlier. That left politics, and Hector took a moment outside of the throne hall to muster his best, neutral expression. Politics were certainly not his favorite part of being royalty, but they were necessary. Once he had gathered his wits, he entered the hall and made his way toward the front where the thrones were situated. In the afternoon light, the torches had not yet been lit, and the sun's rays reflected off the slender pool of water running through the middle. Gathered before his father were a group of men that Hector didn't recognize and who didn't bear Trojan robes. His gut tightened intuitively, and he took his seat to the right of his father.

"We were already forced to handle Thebian matters on our own lands," Priam said to the men without acknowledging his son's arrival.

"That was most unfortunate," one of the men rejoined respectfully, "but my king could not control affairs outside of the city."

"From what I hear, he cannot even control his own city."

"We have endured hard times, my lord... That is why we ask for your help. We need it now more than ever."

"Does the uprising continue?" Hector interrupted curiously before the conversation could continue any further.

"No, my lord, the Hittites have come from the east to capitalize on our misfortune."

"You mean to pick up where the mob left off," Priam said with something of a bored tone.

"What reason do the Hittites have to attack Thebe?" Hector pressed with a frown.

"Greed, my lord. In our current state, they plan to take over all of Cilicia." With Thebe's position on the Gulf of Adramyttium, Eetion held an important strategic position on the eastern side of the Aegean Sea. If the Hittities were planning to become a more active power in western affairs, over throwing Eetion and taking control of Cilicia was not a bad start.

"I have no qualms with the Hittites," Priam commented while drumming his fingers on the edge of his throne.

"Thebe and Troy have had a long standing treaty of peace. If you aid us on this occasion, we will come whenever Troy calls next."

"I cannot remember a time that Thebe ever came to Troy's aid."

"Long ago our forefathers formed an alliance to fight a common enemy. It has been decades since, but Eetion has not forgotten. He still holds Troy among his allies. Can not the same be said of King Priam?"

"I have no desire for Thebe to fall to the Hittites," he conceded after a brief pause.

"Yet you will not help my king reclaim his lands?"

"If Cilicia falls, the Hittites may look north to Troy," Hector murmured beneath his breath to his father. Occasionally forces in the east arose and pushed west in search of power and riches. It was a pattern history warned them of. Troy was the greatest power on the Eastern Aegean and would thus attract the Hittites to prey on them next.

Priam's lips pressed in a thin line as he thought through his son's comment. "I must consult my generals further on this matter... But Troy will not abandon Thebe to face this power alone."

* * *

Large bronze basins held the burst of flames of the torches lighting the path from the ceremony to the dining hall where the celebration would continue away from the public view of their curious subjects. With the sun setting to the west across the Aegean, the sky was molded by waning oranges and reds while the purple veil of night drew ever nearer. The revelry of the day seeped into the air giving it a certain spark as the guests were guided further into the Dardanian palace. The various rulers, princes, distant family members, and acquaintances were all words of praise and broad smiles on the journey and were undoubtedly excited to be granted wine, food, and entertainment and enjoy true Dardanian revelry. The prince weaved his way easily through the crowd, only ceasing occasionally to acknowledge the presence of certain important individuals, but he was hastily searching for his younger cousin among the group gathered when his gaze fell on a raven-haired beauty he had not noticed until then. The rich purple material of her dress was draped in sinewy lines over the never-ending curves of her frame, gauzy and fluttering in the gentle breeze to playfully distort her outline against the smoldering sky until he couldn't be sure where the slopes began and ended. Beneath it, her bronze skin stretched out flawlessly, subtly glowing in the golden light of evening, and he imagined her to taste as sweet as the caramel color promised. Her silky curls were gathered in a gold clasp over her right shoulder with a few stray pieces springing up around her face. He only noticed this when the breeze tossed a curl across her rosy cheek, and she turned to face the wind and keep her hairstyle from further being mussed. With her angular profile to him, she noticed him out of the corner of her eye due to the unyielding gaze directed toward her and glanced innocently over her shoulder, granting him a glimpse at her clear, blue gaze. He met her curious stare unabashedly and was vaguely aware of the wolfish grin tugging at his lips in response to her momentary attention. Seeing it was none other than the infamously handsome Dardanian prince, her rounded shoulder lifted slightly as though to hide the pleased smile he incited while her head bowed somewhat, causing her to peer at him from under the thick lashes rimming those teasing eyes. They shone with amusement toward his open adoration as though it were a reaction she received from men time and time again. Barely a moment passed before she turned around yet again, but Aeneas swore her hips swayed more with every step. Was she taunting him? He wouldn't allow it.

Unwittingly, the young man had been closing in on her where she was walking beside another woman, her friend no doubt. He matched their pace and slipped into the available space at her left. Her attention was turned right to answer her friend, but the latter's gaze was drawn past her to the attractive prince walking with them now. Curiously, the woman glanced over, and the corner of her mouth twitched, betraying her initial wish to smile when she realized who had joined them.

"Did you enjoy the ceremony?" he asked amiably, flashing the mesmerizing smile that he knew left women weak in the knees.

His beauty appeared pointedly unaffected by the look and commented with her attention directed in front of her, "It was beautiful, my lord." The voice was lower than he expected, almost throaty with a raspy foreign accent that caused his smile to morph into a pleased smirk when he imagined the sounds he could draw from her later in the evening.

With that in mind, he turned on his charm at full force and wondered, "Have we met before?"

"No," she assured him earnestly. "I am from Mysia to the east. I have never journeyed west before now."

"I think I have seen you," he pressed without allowing his gaze to stray from her profile.

"You have not."

Aeneas smirked as she ignorantly walked into his advance and bent near her ear, the stubble of his cheek barely grazing the skin below the lobe, as he murmured, "It must have been in a dream." She granted him a doubtful glance, but there was some shimmer of delight in the depths of her eyes in response to his words. By that time they had stepped into the dining hall where the tables were gathered. Being that they were one of the last people to enter, many had already seated themselves including his older sister and new brother-in-law. The beauty was already stepping away from him to follow her friend and find her seat, but Aeneas would not release her so easily. Once more, he lowered his mouth to her ear and placed his hand on the curve of her lower back, testing her with his touch, as he coaxed, "Sit with me." Her azure eyes met his as though searching for his intent before she stepped closer and allowed him to guide her toward an available space at another table. He took her hand to help her step over the bench before seating himself to her right.

A brother of Alcathous, Aeneas' sister's husband, sat across the table from them, and they easily engaged in conversation now that they were recently made family. All the while, Aeneas' attention was drawn to the beauty at his side who occasionally caught his gaze and tempted him with the teasing look in her eyes. There was something tawdry about her despite her lack of action as though with every look she were challenging him to make his move. Little did she know Aeneas never hesitated and always sought to please his women. Beneath the table, his fingers lightly drew across the gauzy material of her dress where it fell across her thigh. By all appearances his attention was politely directed toward the man seated across from him, but he glanced at the woman to his left only to note she gave no reaction to his touch. The edges of his mouth twitched in a smile at her resolve to ignore him, and he decided to push her farther, to challenge her stoic presence and break her for his own amusement. Slowly, his fingers pulled at the material, coaxing it into his palm, and he painstakingly drew the hem of her dress up inch by inch. The patience with which he handled his task seemed to agitate her, and she shifted subtly beside him, hinting at her mild anxiety. As before, her face did not betray her inner emotions, but she did not move to stop him. He felt the tension between them build as she acknowledged how far he would go in this public space. Soon he welcomed the soft skin of her bare thigh and drew his fingers along the small patch available to him. Easily he hungered for more and flattened his palm over the space, drawing his hand back to slip beneath the material and explore the hidden skin of her upper thigh. She tensed at the brazen act and glanced at him with a warning gaze, but he dipped his fingers in the valley between her legs until his pinky caressed the moist curls there.

Aeneas smiled charmingly at her before turning to address the man seated across from him, "What of the harvests in Abydos?"

"Waning with the recent drought, but we are faring for the time," he answered, and the prince seemed completely engaged in the menial conversation while forcing a finger between her sticky inner thighs. It curled back, dipping between the wet folds and feeling the heat radiating from her with the tip of his finger. It pushed further up to flick over the swollen bud. Beside him, her body barely twitched at the feeling, and she bowed her head to hide her lust-laced eyes and compose herself. He brought the cup of wine to his lips to hide the amused grin at how easily he had aroused her with his touch. It only encouraged him to continue with more fervor, and he forced his knuckles between her thighs, spreading her legs enough for his hand to move with more ease through the narrow space. Two fingers painstakingly rubbed across the slippery surface, spreading her lips until they were nestled above the opening with the tips threatening to delve deeper. Her slick inner thighs moved relentlessly around his knuckles at the feeling, and he recognized her desire for him to push farther. Instead, the fingers circled slowly, spreading the sweet nectar with every movement. Her damp curls stuck to his fingers when his palm lifted up to rest comfortably on her pubic bone with the wet tips curled over to capture the swollen bud in the valley between them. She had stilled by this time, long through fighting him, and held stiff with the pent up sounds of pleasure he was coaxing. Her jaw clenched shut to keep them from spilling out, and she kept her gaze downcast where she could see the material of her dress draped over the outline of his hand. Once more, the tips began circling, rubbing with steady pressure over the sensitive spot. Her eyes clenched shut, and she swallowed heavily.

Aeneas couldn't resist and leaned closer while wondering loudly, "My lady, how are affairs in Mysia?"

When her gaze met his, the heavy lust within them made him grin despite himself, but there was an underlying layer of annoyance at him forcing her to speak with his fingers still teasing her without pause. "Well, my lord," she rejoined near a gasp, and the raspy quality of her voice had noticeably grown with her desire, causing his groin to tighten at the sensual sound.

"How did you come to Dardania?" the man across the table wondered politely, and she attempted to push Aeneas' hand away so that she could concentrate. He ignored her without hesitation, and she struggled momentarily to formulate a coherent response.

"My father is a merchant who travels along the trade routes to the Far East," she answered as calmly as she could manage. Aeneas moved his fingers lower, dipping barely into her and massaging the opening.

At the feeling, she paused, forgetting the words in her throat, and the Dardania prince pressed, "Yet you travelled west."

She breathed heavily through her nose and explained, "My father wished to establish connections in the west." Drawing a steadying breath, she added, "His Lord Aesyetes of Abydos has graciously helped." As the final word left her lips, the two fingers thrust in unexpectedly, and she instinctively closed her thighs to halt his advance and bit her lip to quiet the cry of surprise and pleasure. Rather than heading her struggle, he drove in deeper until his knuckles were nestled completely in the dark curls. With her thighs clenched to stop him, her walls tightened around his fingers, but she was so hot and warm inside, increasing his desire tenfold where it throbbed deep in his groin. They curled up to rub her with each slow movement in and out. Her slender hand covered his, and he stubbornly buried his fingers inside her, expecting her to try and force him away yet again. Instead, she caressed up and down the top of his hand in the only way she could express her pleasure at that moment. Aeneas smirked to himself and slowly pulled out, and to his surprise, the tips of her fingers dipped lower to welcome the slick flesh of his own digits and feel him drive back into her. Again and again she coaxed him onward instead of stopping him, silently encouraging him with her touch. Then, she looked at him and released her hand from over his. Aeneas met her gaze and watched her lift one of the moist fingers to her lips and dip between the rose flesh, barely sucking the tip into her mouth. He froze at the sight, and a new wave of want tumbled through him with his ice blue eyes widening in surprise. She smirked in pure satisfaction at being able to taunt him still and turned away from him while dropping the hand to cradle her cup of wine. No one else noticed the brief exchange, but it robbed Aeneas of his patience in an instant. He removed his hand from between the warmth between her thighs and looked down the table to where his older sister Hippodameia was sitting with her husband Alcathous. The latter met his gaze, and Aeneas lifted his cup of wine to the other man with a curt nod. Alcathous returned the gesture with a chuckle beneath his breath, seeming to understand his brother-in-law's intent, and Aeneas took it as his cue to leave.

He bent near the beauty, whispering in her ear, "Meet me in the corridor." With that, he stood and exited the table without a word. Though others noticed, they likely assumed his unannounced departure was a need to relieve himself or something similar. He took the cup of wine with him and held it low to cover the evidence of his desire where it was growing beneath his waist. Any who cared to inspect the area would have noticed still, but he moved brusquely out of the hall and away from curious eyes to wait for her. She evidently was taking her time before following, and for a while, he wondered if she would not come for him. Then she stepped around the corner, and a seductive smile played across her lips when she saw him. Aeneas wasted no time and carelessly dropped the bronze cup of wine to the floor so that he could grab her with both hands and crush her against him, allowing his lips to claim her own in a deep kiss. One of her arms was caught at her side from his consuming embrace, but the free hand grasped the back of his head and encouraged more pressure between their lips. The lust and want boiled the blood beneath his skin, rushing out through every limb and making him impatient to feel her fully. All at once, he released her, took her arm, and nearly dragged her down the corridor and into a room at the end. Once inside, he pressed her against the wall, allowing his lips to leave a trail of hot kisses along the caramel skin of her jaw and lower toward the hollow of her neck while his hands worked at his royal robes. The pin holding the material draped across his chest fell to the floor with a dull clatter while the blue fabric settled about their feet. Only a moment later the lacing at his shoulders loosened enough to slip over them, and her hands eagerly helped him pull the material down his arms and over his hips to reveal the taut muscles lining his chest and abdomen. It fell to the ground with her help, but he was already gathering the purple fabric of her dress up around her waist, too impatient to bother with intricate pins and wrapped material molding to her supple curves. One hand cupped her round backside and forced her up the wall. His other arm slipped beneath her knee to steady her and bear part of her weight while her free leg curled around his waist.

Her teeth took hold of his earlobe and nibbled along the curve while he positioned himself beneath her. Recalling her warm walls contracting around his fingers, he desired nothing more than to feel her for himself, and he eased up on his grip, allowing her to fall down on him all at once in one swift motion. She only stopped when she crashed into his hips, and she threw her head back with a cry of pleasure at his abrupt entrance. She was still wet from his taunting, and he slid easily into her without anything to stop him. For a moment, he paused and reveled in the feeling of her heat and slick flesh embracing him. Once more his lips covered hers as he thrust into her, losing himself in the action. She clung desperately to his shoulders and drew him closer with the leg around his waist, using the leverage to maneuver her hips and meet him each time until they were crashing together with such a force, she moaned loudly against his lips. His blue eyes pierced through her own, watching her lose control in his arms. He forced her knee further up his arm to open her up to him and drive into her deeper each time. Her muscles contracted and released, leaving her shuddering with each wave of pleasure in his arms, and her lips were parted in bliss though the cry of satisfaction was caught in her throat. The pleasure snaked around her form, contracting down on her abdomen, straining to force her over the edge. Her gaze bore into him, silently begging him to continue, to push her there. He thrust harder, making their sweaty skin slap together again and again as he slammed into her, and her eyes clenched closed when the scream flew past her lips, filling up the room with its volume. Simultaneously, the walls contracted around him with her climax crashing down around him, and she nestled her face in the crook of his neck, momentarily exhausted by her powerful release. He paused deep within her, giving her time enough to regain her breath for they had much longer to go, and steadied himself with his knees against the wall.

Her grip on the sweaty skin of his back loosened as she lifted back up to face him, and he smirked at the dazed expression on her face and lingering lust in her azure eyes. He kissed her lips with all the tenderness of a lover, enjoying the swollen flesh and how openly she drew him into her arms, completely exposed to him in the wake of her climax. Still he was not finished with his foreign lover, and he smiled against her lips while slipping his other arm beneath her leg. He suddenly lifted her from the wall and moved them both toward a table nearby. With a careless sweep of his arm, he knocked off the vase located there, and it crashed into pieces on the floor. He then balanced her on the edge, and she released her grip from around his neck to grasp the edges of the table and hold herself up, angled toward him. In turn, he forced her legs further up until her calves rested on his shoulders, and he kissed one of her delicate ankles briefly before gazing down at her to see if she were ready for him again. A seductive smile tugged at her lips to encourage him, and he was only too eager to oblige. Initially, his movements were slow, drawing the length of his shaft all the way out and in to tease her with his patience. She licked her lips and chewed at her bottom lip as he savored her and helped stave off his own release for a while longer. His pace increased steadily, and he watched her fair brow crease with her own desire growing. He leaned forward to open her to him, forcing himself deeper into her, and pressed his lips to hers. She struggled against the pressure to hold herself up, and once he began thrusting harder, the strength in her arms left her. She crumbled back onto the table, and he pushed forward even more to rest his hands on the table and brace himself. Seeing her twitch and squirm beneath him drew him closer, and he chased after that satisfaction by crashing into her deeper than ever before. Her back arched, and she threw her head back to cry out, signaling her end drawing near yet again. He focused on the pleasure tightening in his groin, begging for release, and used that to drive him on with more fervor until he crashed deep inside her a final time and closed his eyes, relishing in the feeling. He pushed onward, forcing a final tidal wave of pleasure to shudder through her.

They were breathless as they peered at each other with mutual amusement and satisfaction at their abrupt affair. "How long will you be in Dardania?" he wondered while straightening to slip out of her.

She saw the idea brewing in his mind and weakly pushed herself back up into a seated position on the table where her gaze was in line with his own. "Long enough."

* * *

**Author's Note**: Hey gorgeous gals! Ok so I was telling my friend about the story and that I was trying to decide what to do with this chapter, and her response was 'make someone fuck for christ's sake' hahaha So I was like who can I make randomly have sex? Aeneas, of course! Hopefully it was fun to read, gave you some insight into his character behind closed doors, and it'll come in handy later :) By the way, the part about Aesyetes being the ruler of Abydos is made up. Alcathous is supposed to be a leader in the Trojan War later, and I wanted him to have a title haha In any case, my friend suggested some things to add to the story that were brilliant, so I had to take some time to rearrange my timeline and make sure everything worked out before I updated again :D

Thank you to AmyLNelson, Syrena Swift, and Avatar2009 for the fantastic reviews! :D

Amy: Hahahaha I'm so glad you enjoy my dramatic creativity ;) I try to real in the drama queen side of me, but every once and a while she makes a bold appearance for better or for worse! The dream seriously came to me randomly while listening to music one day, and I kinda built the rest around it. I wanted something really symbolic on so many levels. I added the part about him tearing open her throat later because I'm a vampire nerd, and I find that to be symbolic of sex with penetration, sharing of fluids, and the blood to represent her losing her virginity. I liked the image of it staining her white dress. I had a lot of fun with it haha I hope you liked this chapter xoxo

Syrena: You crack me up, girl! Yea I like that Korina saw Hector too. I wasn't planning on it, but it seemed like something fun. Myrina has always kept Korina's secrets, and she could repay the favor. Not to mention the girl talk was fun to write. I think it will be good for Myrina to finally have someone to confide in and talk about her relationship with Hector... especially considering what is coming in this next chapter. You are going to pee yourself, you'll be so excited when you see what I have planned for those two :D Have I tweaked your interest yet? hahaha I hope you enjoyed this chapter with the random Aeneas sex scene ;D

Avatar: The trip was lovely. Thanks so much for asking! It was great to get away from things for a bit and see my boyfriend. Hector is still trying to figure things out. He's a young guy, so he has these random bursts of hormones, emotions, etc. It's fun pushing him and seeing him try to gather his wits and act like a man. In this next chapter, he's really going to push their relationship somewhere new, and I'm really curious to see how you'll react to how he does it. We'll just say he gets his payback ;) I hope you liked this chapter, gorgeous! xoxo


	27. Dusk and Summer

Chapter 26  
"Dusk and Summer"

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Recommended Songs: "Hummingbird Heartbeat" – Katy Perry & "On Call" – Kings of Leon

* * *

It had been nearly two weeks since Hector last visited Myrina, and the young woman was beginning to doubt his promise to return as soon as he could. There were many possibilities she could fathom to explain his abrupt absence, and she had certainly afforded herself the time to ponder each one. Considering his important position, she understood that their relationship was not necessarily on the forefront of his responsibilities, but somehow she had expected a dramatic shift in his behavior toward her after their last encounter. Evidently she had misunderstood his intention and foolishly expected more from him than he was able to offer her. Where once she had stood hesitantly at the boundary of this unexplored territory, she now seemed to press farther ahead of him than he wished to venture. He had paused a time behind her, distracted by some temporary pleasure, and she was steadily losing the patience and resolve to wait for him.

On that particular summer afternoon, the marketplace was stifling. In the depressed space surrounded on one side by buildings and the temple on the other, the stone walls trapped the heat, allowing the waves to compress and weigh down the air despite the open space. The usual crowded energy pulsed through the area, and she silently prayed for a breeze of some sort to cool the sweat accumulating on her brow but settled for wiping it away with the back of her hand. Since the royal healer visited her two weeks ago, her recovery had increased each day. Eumolpus' potion eased her nausea as promised, and her appetite nearly returned tenfold as a result. Isidora monitored her portions to be sure she did not take too much too soon, but by a fortnight later, she felt well enough to join Isidora on her journey to the market. What was difficult at times was not the illness itself but the toll it had taken on her body, draining her so easily and completely of her strength. While her mind was pressing her to behave as she normally would, the weakness still lingered in her muscles, and she struggled to regain her strength. It was frustrating losing her breath faster or needing to rest more often when she did not feel sick, but she knew her strength would be return soon enough. Unfortunately, Myrina had little patience for anything these days, and the heat of the day was not aiding her mood.

"We should rest before we return," Isidora decided from her side with a concerned glance at the young woman. "You should not push yourself so."

Though it was precisely what Myrina desired with her subtly drawn breath, sweat-lined form, and heavy limbs, she was growing irritated with Isidora's incessant comments about her health. Initially, it had been a blessing having a mother figure around to care for her, but Isidora's consideration had easily morphed into nagging with time. Out of sheer will power, she swallowed down a fiery retort and said, "We need figs," while directing their path toward the appropriate stand.

"We shouldn't waste money on figs," the old servant quickly rejoined. "We have already bought too much."

Myrina's gaze turned down to their baskets and silently admitted to herself that their bounty was a bit fuller than usual, but despite the heat, the crowd, and the agitating company, she was enjoying the time spent outside the home. "Father loves figs," she pointed out if only to prolong their stay. "He would be pleased if we brought some home. Perhaps they are a good price today."

"Your illness has given you a lighter hand with your father's money."

"There is no price for looking."

"You cannot look without consulting our money purse… And it is so hot today. We should not stay too long. You are still weak."

"I am well," she snapped back forcefully, her turquoise eyes blazing beneath the summer sun.

"You may feel well, but you should not be overly ambitious and risk falling ill again."

"What bothers me is not the heat." She turned to consider the old woman and pressed, "It is your loose tongue."

"You scorn me now, but it was not a fortnight ago that I was at your side, day and night. How easily you forget!"

At the scolding, Myrina's pride naturally flared, but her conscience had a greater effect when reminded of Isidora's never-ending attention. After a brief period of silence, she admitted, "I am grateful for your help when I was ill. You cared for me like a mother… But I have barely seen outside the walls of our home for weeks. Allow me to enjoy this afternoon. We'll only stay a moment longer, and we will not buy anything else."

The old woman considered the proposition with a frown of disapproval, but Myrina's pleading eyes convinced her otherwise. "Very well. But only a moment. You must rest, girl." Myrina grinned victoriously and bent to place an affectionate kiss on the woman's cheek. She was immediately swatted away, but she saw the edges of Isidora's mouth lift in a rare smile.

By that time, they had reached a stand where a vendor was selling figs along with other fruit, and the women took their time inspecting his offerings though Isidora consistently eyed Myrina from time to time to be sure she would keep her word and not buy a thing. The young woman had meant what she said, but still, the man would grow annoyed if he realized they had no interest in buying and were simply lingering at his booth to pass the time. Thus, she pretended otherwise and inquired, "How much?"

The man eyed her momentarily, allowing his gaze to consider her from head to foot while undoubtedly deciding for himself what price to give her. "A copper piece for each."

They always started off high when they answered her –perhaps attempting to take advantage of her age, and Myrina granted him a dubious look and opened her mouth to retort. A comment came from behind her before the words even entered her throat, "At that price, you are a thief." She recognized the voice even before she turned to meet the familiar chestnut eyes of her dear friend. Immediately, her heart missed a beat in her chest, and she felt stunned, simply eying without truly knowing how to respond. Rather than considering her, those dark eyes were directed past her to the man now scrambling for an appropriate response when faced with the crown prince of Troy. "Did you wish to rob this young woman?"

"No, my lord," he answered immediately with his gaze respectfully downcast.

"Then you must be unaware of prices in Troy… What would you pay?" he asked and finally turned to Myrina with a hint of amusement to his eyes.

She was still somewhat dazed by his abrupt appearance, and her reaction was delayed as she returned her attention to the meager fruit and decided, "A copper piece for three." Hesitantly, she considered the tall Trojan once more, feeling oddly uncertain with her answer.

"A fair price. Do you agree?" he asked the vendor.

"Yes, my lord. Very fair."

"Then it's settled." Immediately, Myrina reached for her money purse, but Hector's hand already passed her and deposited the pieces in the vendor's hand. She was surprised by his generosity, but he seemed unaffected by the action while helping place the appropriate number into her basket and walking away with her. Out of blind curiosity, she glanced over shoulder to see the vendor staring after them in awe when the prince left with a commoner. When met with that bewildered expression, she felt simultaneously embarrassed and proud to be at Hector's side and easily dismissed her prior annoyance toward him. He often had a way of making her forget her anger when she peered up into those dark eyes and noted the pleased smirk on his lips. "I'm glad to see you are well," he commented to break the silence that had unintentionally fallen between them. At first, they simply reveled in each other's company, but he was eager to speak with her.

"I have you to thank," she rejoined earnestly.

"I wish I had known sooner. You would not have suffered so long."

"I am well now. That's all that matters." He nodded in wordless agreement, and she hesitated before guessing, "You've been busy."

"Yes." He understood the unasked question hidden behind the statement and promised, "I will tell you when I can, but I must leave now. I need to speak with my father." With how often he slipped in and out of her life, she should not have felt so disappointed by the words, but she gazed up at him and wished for nothing more than another few minutes with him in the crowded, heated marketplace. He easily read the longing in her eyes since he felt it within himself and smiled lopsidedly in an attempt to ease her momentary sadness. "I'll see you soon."

"You say that each time," she murmured, but he had no answer or explanation for that statement. Thus, she straightened, gathering her wits about her as gracefully as she could, and said, "Thank you… I won't keep you any longer."

Even as she dismissed him, he hesitated a second longer, and then he turned without a word and walked further up the main street toward the palace. He felt guilty for leaving her standing in the square, but he had already lingered too long with her as it was. When he had seen her in the marketplace, his spirits had lifted substantially, and he had been unable to resist speaking with her if only for a brief time. The disappointed look in her eyes, however, cut into him. Already he had failed to keep his promise and had not seen her to be sure she recovered properly. Though she no doubt questioned his concern, he had worried about her each night, but he simply did not have the time to spare riding out to the village -even for her. They had decided to help ward off the Hittite invasion in Cilician Thebe, and Hector had been named among the generals and assigned to lead a contingent of cavalry soldiers southeast. It was a long awaited acknowledgement of his growing prowess in matters of war, but it also caused him to shoulder far more responsibilities as a result. He could not risk seeming unappreciative or lax in his duties, and he monitored the army's preparations during the day and discussed battle strategy and division of troops late into the night. It was an exhausting task balancing his military responsibilities and political duties, but it was yet another step in his evolution. Though it was trying at times, he would master this task as he did each one before it, and he would be all the stronger and wiser for it. Yet he turned mid-stride to look back at her, momentarily torn between the two places he wished to be: at the palace and at her side. When he noted that she had once more disappeared into the crowd, the former won out, and he strode brusquely through the palace to meet his father, all the while thinking of the young woman who was always out of his reach. When would he have an afternoon to ride out to the village? The answer evaded him as the responsibilities and unfinished business piled up in an unsorted mess within his mind.

He frowned in annoyance, suddenly wishing he could sweep the tangled mess aside, and turned the corner down a corridor to see Paris guiding a young woman in white robes through the halls. Ever since he had caught his younger brother with a woman in his room so many nights ago, Paris had entertained his fair share of guests. Evidently his brother had finally found something he excelled at –pleasing women, numerous women. Where Hector chased after his glory in war, Paris had long abandoned Hector's attempt to train him and was content evolving between a woman's thighs. Thus, it was not a surprising sight, but as he drew nearer to the pair, he noticed something about the woman which irritated him to say the least. As he passed, he forcefully smacked his younger brother on the back of the head, and Paris spun on his heel to face Hector with a fiery glare at being disciplined in front of the woman. "Keep away from the counselors' daughters," the older Trojan prince warned without ceasing his stride. Though he still chided Paris each time he found it necessary, the younger man rarely listened. Consequently, the prince did not spare another moment to the couple and pressed on instead to meet their father. Vainly, he hoped the threat of him knowing her true identity would be enough to end their lusty romance.

Mulling over the notion of Paris' rapid transformation into a cad and the various women he invited into the palace, an idea occurred to Hector which he had not truly considered in years. Before when he thought it, he always dismissed it with barely a moment's thought. However, on this occasion, it seemed much more alluring, and he mentally tossed it back and forth, gauging the pros and cons of such an action. It was unlike anything he had ever done, but perhaps that was why it seemed so appropriate in a sense. Engaging in the same behavior would only garner him a similar result when clearly he desired something different. Still, he considered it from each angle for any horribly obvious flaws, but overall it seemed quite perfect. As his resolve increased, a smile curved his lips upward, and he chuckled beneath his breath, attempting to image the look of shock on her face. It bolstered him, and the plan unfolded swiftly in his head as though his mind had long ago ironed out the details without his knowing. By the time he neared the throne hall, the plan was settled, and a familiar soldier stepped outside the large wooden doors, no doubt returning to his station after listening to a meeting about the coming fight. And so easily did the Fates offer him the perfect accomplice.

"Lysander!" Hector called out to the man who had become something a friendly acquaintance in the years they fought together ever since the other man had saved Hector from nearly being decapitated by the Aetolian prince.

The man in question turned with a broad grin to see who had called him and greeted, "My lord."

As Hector brusquely approached, he said, "You must do something for me." Truly it was so simple: if he could not ride out to her, he would bring her to him.

* * *

The following day unfolded to be as unexciting and repetitive as the norm for the young woman who was sweeping the floors of their home, all the way lost in her thoughts. It was then that Isidora rushed inside to find Myrina in the kitchen and abruptly disrupted their day.

"Myrina, there is a soldier here asking for you," the old woman said with her beady eyes wide in confusion.

It was mutually felt by the young woman who initially was unsure how to react to the news. "Did he state his purpose?"

"He only said he must speak with you and would tell me no more." Her anxiety became evident with this piece of information, but Myrina wiped her hands on the edge of her dress and set off to see for herself what this soldier required of her. The young man was waiting outside near the door and standing beside his steed, and he wore the armor of Trojan soldiers and came alone to see her which was incredibly bizarre.

"You are the lady of the house?" he asked when she approached near enough to speak with him, though she maintinaed a cautious amount of space between them should she not like what he had to say.

"Yes. Why have you asked for me?"

At this he straightened to full attention and delivered his message, "You have been called to the palace in Troy."

It was the farthest thing from what she could possibly anticipat him saying, and as a result, she was unable to mask her surprise. Her lips parted with unspoken words while her eyes widened considerably, and she was far too stunned to respond at first. He watched the utter shock overtaking her delicate features and fought away a smile, or a laugh perhaps, at her reaction. When she noticed this, she scrambled to appear composed and asked, "By whose orders?"

"The Crown Prince, Hector."

Her brow furrowed slightly though it was the answer she subconsciously anticipated. No other member of royalty had reason to know her name or cto all on her, but he had never done such a thing before. What did he need of her? Was something wrong? Was he hurt? What would she tell her father? How would they explain their bond? A million thoughts swarmed mercilessly through her mind and left her dizzy in their wake, making her unable to decipher one coherent idea or answer a single of her own questions. Eying the young soldier who was still waiting for her response, she struggled to garner more information from him without appearing like a greater imbecile. "Is he ill?"

"No, my lady." The tone of his voice softened in a reassuring manner, and the dark blue of his eyes hid no deceit.

Her confusion increased tenfold, and she vaguely noticed the polite title he addressed her with. Rarely did anyone call her such considering her status and age, but it gave her the sense that he was being kind to her if only because the prince called on her. It would have made her feel important were she able to think clearly. "I am to leave now?"

"Yes, my lady. I must return you to the palace before evening."

The reality began to seep into her pores with the mention of the palace, and she requested, "Give me a moment." He nodded wordlessly as she turned to step back inside the house where Isidora was waiting for her with a deep frown of disapproval. "I must leave."

"What am I to tell your father and brother? Where will I say you have gone? When will I tell them to expect your return?" she chattered after the woman who entered her room and stared around with a blank expression, trying to remember why she came in the first place. "Myrina, I warned you. I warned you no good would come of this."

She had no appropriate response since the nerves were wrapping around her gut and clouding her judgment. "I cannot ignore this. I must go."

"What will he do if you refuse?" the old servant pried with a dubious glance, suggesting the prince would not punish her.

"I must go," she repeated instead.

"What should I tell your father?"

That was an answer that eluded the young woman, and she sighed while her mind raced. "Tell him… Tell him I met the prince in the market, that we spoke for a moment, and that he has called on me."

"You should tell him the truth, Myrina."

"I will." In response to the old woman's doubtful stare, she pressed, "I will, but _I_ will tell him. He does not need to hear that from you. Perhaps he will be pleased…"

"No father is pleased when his daughter is called away from his home to the palace. I should only hope you return before nightfall."

"If I leave this late," she paused and searched the older woman's eyes, "you know I will not."

Isidora's wrinkled features contorted in a sour expression to show her distaste, but she understood that on this matter she was powerless. She did not have the station to defy a prince and could not harbor a young woman who did not wish to be protected. She recognized the look in Myrina's eyes when she saw the prince, and it was what she had feared all along, ever since the day she learned of their friendship. Though she had feared what the pair did under the cover of the night, for the time, she wished to think Myrina more rational. Thus, she took the young woman's chin, forcing her to meet her gaze, and warned, "Guard your virtue, girl. It is the only power we women have."

Being thrust into a new situation and called away from her family, Myrina confessed, "I'm nervous."

"You should be." Isidora nodded firmly, almost willing a piece of her stubborn nature into Myrina. "Trust your instincts. They will never lead your astray." Myrina had nothing further to say, and Isidora was forced to release her and acknowledge, "You should not keep him waiting. Go if you must."

The slight push was all she needed, and she hurried back down the hallway and outside to see the soldier waiting. He relaxed when she exited the home as though he had been worrying she would not return, but Myrina could not speak a word as she retrieved their horse, the old white stallion that had brought her to him years ago and would do so yet again. Despite the nerves coursing through her, her excitement was rushing to overtake it, and she murmured in the horse's ear, "Ride swiftly for me today." With that, she mounted the steed and guided it over to the Trojan soldier. She glanced back a final time to where Isidora was watching them from the doorway, but neither woman said a word.

Her gaze turned the soldier, and he smiled briefly to calm the anxiety in her eyes. "To Troy, my lady." Not a moment later, they rode off toward the city, and she could not imagine what her neighbors thought as she passed by, riding beside a soldier. Of course that was the least of her worries. What consumed her thoughts was what was awaiting her behind the legendary gates. Why had he called her? Why now? There were no answers for her, and her anticipation and uncertainty grew with every passing minute. She was grateful for the ride which helped dispel the nervous energy from her form, and she pressed her horse on faster, wishing to reach Troy sooner if only to realize his purpose and have the growing tension within her dispelled. Hopefully that would be the case, and she would receive no bad news. In the distance growing closer, the stone walls shone beneath the waning afternoon sun while the bronze alarms situated about the top glistened like fire in the night. Evening was not far away, and as always she wondered what secrets would be revealed beneath the cover of night.

Once they reached the palace entrance, servants took their horses, and even with the knowledgeable, kind-hearted soldier at her side, she felt incredibly out of place. Each time they passed a guard, she expected him to deny her passage and send her on her way. Yet each one stood aside and barely granted her a glance when she crossed their paths as though her appearance were not so out of character. It seemed as though everything that day would bewilder her, and she strained to remain concentrated on their path and the unrevealed reasoning behind her presence, but her eyes eagerly inspected the cream colored stone of the outer palace walls with green ivy weaving across it in sudden bursts of color. The walls of the corridors and columns lining the hallways were painted with intricate designs and bright colors, and they passed by several gardens where plants flourished more beautifully than she had ever seen. Oddly it reminded her of the courtyard her mother had once tended to when she was little, but its beauty had died with her. Seeing if only a glimpse of the gardens of the Trojan palace filled her with such reminiscent awe and happiness that she momentarily forgot her nerves. The soldier was silent as he guided her through the halls, and she assumed, to Hector. How he was able to navigate his way through the various levels was beyond her understanding for she had long lost her way but was too overwhelmed by the allure of the palace to truly acknowledge her disorientation.

At length, they paused before a door, and the change drew Myrina's attention back to the present moment. The soldier opened the door for her, and her heartbeat reached a crescendo as she stepped through the passageway. However, rather than being met with her friend's familiar face, a trio of women turned expectantly to her, and Lysander spoke up from the door, "Have her ready before supper."

All at once, the blood drained from her face, and she spun on her heel to consider the soldier with yet another look a pure shock. "What?" she gasped, praying she had misheard him since such a suggestion was impossible.

"I must leave you to prepare now." He paused and seemed to reconsider his words when faced with her stunned expression. "I would be swift about it," he offered as a final piece of advice before closing the door and setting off to find the prince and inform him of her arrival. Now alone, she faced the trio with uncertain eyes, and her heart beat so fast she swore it would jump from her chest completely at any given second. Then all at once, the women advanced on her.

—

An hour later, Myrina considered her reflection in the mirror one of the servants held up for her. Initially, she stared with open curiosity toward the woman in the reflection, feeling no recognition toward herself in her current state. The gossamer material was layered over her skin to maintain a level of modesty though it felt airy and nearly floated about her as she moved. It was the palest of blue, nearly white, causing the bronze of her skin to glow in contrast and the exotic color eyes to stand out with greater force. The oils the women had swirled into her bath left her skin smooth and supple, reflecting the warm sheen of the candles lighting up the room and drawing attention to every delicate curve and bone revealed by the gown. Her curls were combed into perfect coils, falling behind her shoulders and down her back to graze her waist with every movement. The sides were each pinned back by golden pins while a few stray curls framed her pointed face. Two large golden earrings accented with small coral and turquoise stones peeked through the thin veil of her hair and hung down on either side of her slender neck. The blue material twisted at her shoulders and fell down in a deep incline to cover her breasts, only meeting well below her sternum where the fabric was loosely gathered and trimmed with a small gold scalloping detail. At its center, a modest golden pendant set with beautiful, petite coral stones hung down. Similarly the back of the dress was cut to the middle of her spine though her hair mainly hid the exposed skin from sight. The same could not be said of the front, and her eyes lingered on the rather deep triangle of bronze skin left uncovered by the flimsy material. The dress skimmed her body in a way that seemed far more seductive than the clothing some Trojan women wore which would mold to their bodies like a second skin. It nearly fluttered over her skin, suggesting how easily the fabric could shift and reveal far more. Slowly, she considered her two exposed collarbones which were innocent enough, but then her gaze fell lower to acknowledge the valley between her breasts. In this candlelight, the curves on each side of the slight hollow were illuminated, and it took her a moment to recognize them as the inner part of her breasts remaining uncovered by the blue material.

As the realization dawned on her, she placed her hands over her chest and protested, "I cannot be seen in this!"

The eldest servant approached her with another piece of pale blue material in her bony hands and hastily draped it across her narrow frame, using a large gold pin to attach the sides over her left shoulder. "There is no time! We must hurry!" The edges of the fabric were embroidered with gold and tiny flecks of gold stitching periodically interrupted the material elsewhere, catching the light to subtly shimmer as she moved. With it in place, the most revealing portion of the dress was hidden from sight, and Myrina modestly adjusted it further across her breast to be certain nothing distasteful would show. "You must go now," the servant chided. "Quickly! The prince will not wish to wait!" The air in the room suddenly turned nervous as Myrina realized she would be forced to face Hector in her current state. Oddly she felt more shy in her new garb since it was so out of character for her, but as before, she could not resist his call. She reluctantly followed the servant from the room and through the corridors. By this time, night had fallen, and large bronze basins filled with fire lined the hallways to light their way. In the darkness, the fires threw a different light over the palace, and it felt far more intimidating without the sun's rays to warm its cool stone. Why had Hector done this? The entire affair made no sense, and she felt like a young girl playing dress up and fantasizing about an exotic affair away from the reality of her circumstance; but this was far beyond a silly fantasy. She was an outsider walking blindly through the Trojan palace, praying to turn a corner and be met with his face, to have something familiar to cling to, and she faced it all for him.

The gods seemed to hear her silent pleas, and as they turned to pass through another hallway, there he stood at the end, speaking with none other than the young soldier who had retrieved her. Perhaps it was the dramatic change in scenery, but he seemed so different to her standing there in a pair of dark blue robes lined with golden embroidery. The shirt loosely covered his broad shoulders and tucked into the material tied around his waist and hanging down to his calves. Two golden cuffs circled his wrists, matching the stitching of his clothing, and his normally unruly curls were combed back from his face. Noticing her approach, he nonchalantly glanced over at her and returned his attention to hear whatever the man was saying. Then, the realization seemed to stun him, and his head snapped back to consider her with his full concentration directed toward her, discerning her true identity as though he were as surprised by her transformation as she had been. The intensity of his gaze caused her to drop her eyes self-consciously, but it was only for a moment before she looked back at him, forgetting her uneasiness in a second as his eyes bore straight through her. He turned to face her fully, completely forgetting the conversation he was previously engaged in, and she failed to notice that the servant and soldier both slipped away without a word or command to dismiss them. Perhaps they knew they would better serve their prince if they granted him a moment alone with this mystery woman.

When she reached him, neither spoke a word while they inspected the other with open interest. Finally his chestnut eyes settled on her face, signaling the return of his attention from other parts of her, and she voiced the question which had been burning in her mind, "Why did you do this?" There was an expectant pause, and then all at once, he scooped her into his arms, claiming her lips with his own and molding her body perfectly against his own to give her his true answer. As before, his body told her more than his words could, and he kissed her with all the passion their time apart had caused though barely a fortnight. He had worried about her and had been relieved beyond expression to see her well. In that moment, he held her so tightly, kissing her so fiercely that her lungs burned within her chest from the lack of air and her mind spun, but she didn't dare break away for something as petty as air when she had him once more. He was the one to release her first though staring up into his chestnut eyes they betrayed his desire to continue, and his arms still wrapped about her, allowing him the chance to draw her back if he wished.

"You're upset with me," he commented softly with a smile tugging at his lips after he recalled the tone of her question.

Truthfully, she had been, but his kiss had sucked away all her irritation, annoyance, and frustration. Now, looking up into his eyes, she admitted, "I wish I was."

His smile grew substantially at the confession, and she unwittingly mirrored it. "If you wish to leave, I won't keep you… I'll return you to your home myself." The grand way in which he offered the words hinted that he doubted she would request it of him, and as he suspected, she didn't speak a word in response. It pleased him greatly since he might have lied about being willing to let her go –not when he finally had her to himself without any to interrupt them. He should have thought of this much sooner. "Come with me," he said then and took her elbow to guide her further down the hallway and toward two large wooden doors. When a servant slipped out, the sounds within escaped, and she heard all the voices of the people within.

"Where are we going?" she asked as the fear steadily creeped back into her form. Suddenly she dreaded what lay behind those doors.

"Supper," he rejoined coolly as though it were such a normal thing for him to bring her along.

"No, no, Hector." In a flahs, she was pulling back against his grip, attempting to draw herself away from the doors. "I can't go in there."

"Why not?" His brow knit in confusion when he noted the mild alarm on her face and gripped more tightly onto her arm to hold her by his side.

"I don't belong there. Why did you call me here at all? What will they think of me?"

All at once, he grasped her other arm, forced her to face him completely, and bent down to peer directly into her eyes as he calmly said, "Just come with me." It was a tone she had only heard from him once before, pleading despite the way it sounded like a command. It had been so long ago when he kissed her in the hallway of her home: 'Do not run from this time.' This request had a similar ring, and it caused her to cease fighting him. Still, she was tense in his grip and stared at him, unable to control the anxiety and slight mixture of fear for seeping into her gaze. He didn't acknowledge it and gave her such an earnest expression that it was soothing how calm and collected he was. The feeling seemed to transfer through his hands and into her body, and after tense seconds passed, she curtly nodded her head in surrender. Hector straightened with a sigh of relief but maintained his grip on one of her elbows to be sure she didn't change her mind and flee. Unfortunately, Myrina wished she could grab the beautiful material of her dress, hike it above her knees, and run away, but she had committed to this. At least she was at Hector's side. Two servants opened the doors as they approached, and Hector released her elbow when they stepped inside the dining hall, not wishing to look too possessive. In the hall whose ceilings seemed nearly as high as the heavens, a long table stretched down the center. Huge, painted stone columns lined the space down the length of either side, and the pale stone of the floor was covered with lavish, colorful rugs. Several members of the group gathered hushed to crane their necks and examine the couple's entrance. Hector stood nearest the center of the room, and Myrina kept pace with him as he approached the table, nearly shrinking at his side as though to hide behind his broad form and tuck away from their prying gazes. She was too fearful to actually peer back, and her blue-green eyes were pasted to her feet, watching the gauzy material flutter about her legs with every step she took. Her heart had a similar feeling. Then she felt Hector's hand barely grazing her lower back, and she glanced up at him to note they had evidently reached their seats at the bench. His gaze flickered down, and she followed it to see his other hand extended out for her to take. She slipped her own into his, grabbing the edge of her dress with the other and stepped over the bench with as much grace as she could muster in her deteriorating state. Hector soon took the available space at her left, and they were seated to her relief. She doubted how long her knees would hold her where they were trembling even then beneath the table. The curious gazes remained situated on her, and her attention was turned to her folded hands in her lap. Rather than nervously wringing them as she was prone to, they were clenched together with her knuckles turning white beneath the great tension between them. Moments later the conversation gradually resumed, and she hoped to be lost among it, to vanish as everyone's attention was drawn elsewhere.

At that moment, there was a low murmur at her ear, "That is my brother Paris seated across from us. The one I told you of." Curiously, her gaze flickered up to see the young man Hector was referring to. Her eyes locked with his, and she realized all too late he had been staring at her as well. A charming grin overtook his features, and he appeared elated though she had no idea why. She noted the resemblance between Paris and Hector: the same chestnut eyes, unruly crown of dark brown curls, and straight noses. However, aside from those vague similarities, the two appeared entirely different. Though she had always found Hector handsome, there was something rougher to his appearance with the scar running across his eye and dark beard lining his strong jaw. Paris by contrast was… beautiful. It was the only way she could think to describe him. His face was less angular and more narrow with a lingering childish softness. She had heard vague rumors of his attractiveness, but it was interesting to finally see the face that women discussed. By that time, Paris had turned away to speak with the woman beside him. Likewise, Myrina's attention shifted to her, and Hector seemed to notice while commenting, "And that is my sister Cassandra. Have you heard of…" The question trailed off, and he seemed uncertain how to voice the thought in his head. At the expectant silence, Myrina peered up at him with curious eyes. Finally he settled for, "Have you heard of her?"

"No," she answered softly.

He nodded. Their family had attempted to keep her outbursts a secret, but their private lives had a way of seeping out into the public sphere whether through servant's gossip or otherwise. It was not long after Hector returned from war in Greece that Cassandra began claiming ridiculous things. Somehow she thought that she could foretell what would come, but her observations were always clouded with nonsense so that all knew she was lying. It was a pity. Hector had always been found of his younger sister since they were the eldest of Priam's children. He realized Myrina was waiting and decided, "I will tell you another time if you wish." With the brief exchange finished, Myrina turned back to Cassandra only to see her staring back. Evidently whatever Paris had told her concerned Myrina, and now the older woman considered her openly. There was something entrancing about Cassandra's dark eyes as though their depths were endless, holding an infinite amount of secrets. Another emotion clouded the woman's attractive features, and it took Myrina a moment to recognize it as sorrow, deep and unspoken. It gave Myrina an unsettling feeling, gripping her stomach intuitively, but she looked away, afraid of meeting those soulful eyes again.

In this way, Hector would occasionally lean over to identify a specific individual at the table, another brother or sister or perhaps a member of his father's council. Honestly, she felt as curious about them as they seemed to feel about her, and with time, their lingering gazes seemed far less malicious when she was able to place a name to them, giving them a bit more humanity. However, there was one pair of eyes she refused to meet: those of the great King Priam who was seated at the head of the table not far from where Hector was. She could feel his gaze the strongest of all, piercing her in place each time it flickered over to her. Undoubtedly, he was aggravated by her unwarranted presence, and Myrina only felt more inadequate by contrast of sitting near the King. Had Hector even told him she would be joining them? She didn't have the courage to ask her friend that question and mainly listened in silence through the evening as Hector spoke with his family. She straightened more fully when a familiar name was discussed.

"Was Hippodameia not married but a few days ago?" Paris wondered, directing the question toward his older brother.

"Yes, to Alcathous, son Aesyetes."

"The ruler of Abydos?"

"Yes." Hector granted his brother a disapproving look for not knowing the answer himself. Abydos was a northern city in Troy. Once more, he was reminded how little Paris cared to spare any attention to his lessons or training.

"What does Aeneas say of the match?"

"He approves as far as I know. Alcathous is a good man. I've spoken with him several times when I was in Abydos."

"Why did we not attend the ceremony, father?" Paris asked. Myrina had noticed throughout the night how the younger Trojan prince skipped from conversation to conversation, addressing each subject without truly considering his words whereas Hector answered every comment with a certain amount of tact. It was interesting watching him interact with his family. It brought out a side of him that she didn't recognize. Despite their intimacy and familiarity, he seemed so much less candid in their presences.

"We have greater matters to address, Paris," Priam answered. "You would know that if you did not sleep late into the afternoon and miss our meetings." Despite the chiding nature of his statement, there was some amusement to his tone which Myrina had not expected from the stoic king.

"What matters more than family? Surely Anchises and Aeneas were bothered by our absence."

"I doubt Aeneas noticed," Hector commented with a smirk to himself, only guessing at what tomfoolery his cousin engaged in that evening. Myrina's thoughts had taken a similar turn.

"I sent my blessing and a worthy gift for the pair," Priam answered, evidently not hearing Hector. "They needed no more."

"When will you sail for Thebe?" Cassandra asked demurely, and Myrina's brow unwittingly creased at this question. Was he going to Thebe? Where was Thebe?

Hector recognized that he had not been able to discuss his departure with Myrina yet but resolved to explain later when they had time. "A fortnight… Perhaps longer. There are still many preparations to be made."

"It is a shame Thebe has suffered such misfortunes as of late," the princess commented while reaching for her cup of wine. "Do you know King Eetion, father?"

"Not well," Priam admitted. "Long ago our armies allied, but we were both too young to battle at the time. I have met him on several occasions since. He is a wise ruler, and the gods blessed him with seven strong sons… I cannot imagine what he has done to warrant this wrath upon his people."

"He has a daughter as well, does he not?" Cassandra continued, unraveling the details with a graceful hand. Where outwardly she appeared only partially invested in the conversation as though continuing out of politeness more than interest, some tension to her form suggest that she was digging deeper for something else. Myrina stilled as her curiosity grew, and she listened more intently.

"The youngest of his children," Hecuba agreed when Priam did not answer since she had heard gossip of the young woman as well.

"I have heard of her skill in weaving intricate tapestries. They say the beauty of her craft is only matched by her own," Cassandra murmured while idly swirling the wine in her cup. "It is a wonder she has not been married yet."

"If you speak truthfully, then it should not be long until Eetion finds a suitable match," Priam commented and sat back in his grand chair to peer out across the table at his large family and allies.

"Perhaps he already has," Cassandra said so softly it barely carried across the table to reach Myrina's ears, but the bizarre comment caught her attention all the same. The Trojan princess was staring at her with an unreadable expression, and those abysmal dark eyes caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. Beneath the table, her hand fell on Hector's, subconsciously seeking out the comfort of his touch, and the large hand engulfed hers easily, curling around to squeeze the small surface gently. Silently he reassured her without even bothering or needing to ask what had caused her uneasiness in the first place. His hand lingered around her own, transferring the heat of his palm into her skin, so that her hand felt cold when he released it moments later to grasp his cup.

Supper finished not long after that when Priam stood to signal the end. Likewise, everyone else gathered at the long table rose to their feet and dispersed according to whatever remaining responsibilities they had that night. Myrina waited expectantly at Hector's side, however, the prince motioned for a servant standing along the edge of the hall and commanded, "Take her to my quarters." Turning his attention to the young woman who was now frowning up at him in obvious disapproval at their separation, he promised, "I will be there shortly." Without another word, he turned from her to approach his father and a group of generals now gathering to briefly update the king as to their plans. Needless to say, Myrina was disappointed that he left her alone in this intimidating new place yet again, but she had no choice but to follow the servant through the winding corridors, up to one of the highest levels, and further into the palace itself until they reached a set of two large wooden doors bound to the wall by bronze plates. The servant opened one of the grand doors for her to pass through, and she curiously stepped inside now that they had clearly reached her destination. The sight which met her as she entered Hector's chambers caused her breath to catch in her throat.

"Do you require anything, my lady?" the servant asked from behind her with his gaze downcast. In her latest guise, he clearly did not realize how similar their positions were. She wondered briefly how his behavior toward her would change if he knew she were only the daughter of a poor fisherman.

Myrina shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable with the respectful display, and dismissed him politely, "No. Thank you." The servant closed the door behind him, leaving Myrina alone to face the large space. Initially, she stood immediately within the doorway simply drinking in the area. Directly in front of her was a depressed square space with a large, circular pit at the center in which logs were piled up, lighting up the central area of the room and radiating off the subtle warmth from the fire. A small stool was situated on the outskirts of the pit along with a few colorful rugs, suggesting it was a place Hector may have sat and thought at times. At the notion, she acknowledged it would seem quite fitting for his character, and then briefly, she wondered how the smoke did not linger about the space. Her gaze was drawn upward to the ceiling above the fire where an equally large square had been cut out of the roof, revealing the blackened night sky punctuated by bold stars. Her lips parted in awe, and she hesitantly descended the narrow steps to skirt around the fire and grant herself a better look at the remainder of the room. On either side the space were a row of tall, painted stone columns, but on the side opposite the entryway, there was no wall, only a long balcony peering out over the city and facing the Aegean Sea in the distance. Immediately the view entranced her for she had never seen anything so grand, but she resisted the call of the waves for a time longer, resolving to end her journey through the room there. To her left, she noticed a tall bronze pole, lifting high up into the space, with two angular arms shooting out in a curved shape from either side. Hanging from the arms were two bronze pots filled with oil, and each had three spouts with a lit linen wick. A matching lantern was on the other side of the room, and she found their simple structure beautiful –especially when the hanging pots swayed in the wind.

The fires scattered about the room cast shadows in places and flickered with the cool night breeze sweeping over the Trojan lands. To her right, a glimmer caught her eye, and she turned to see something incredibly special situated in an unassuming corner of his room. She ascended the small stairs to the usual level of the space and approached the piece with her interest growing substantially. Upon a wooden rack, his armor was hung: the bronze, intricate chest plate, matching helmet with a dark blue plume sprouting from the top, heavy rounded shield resting at the side, and various other guards scattered about the base… She extended her hand and hesitated without reaching the shoulder, feeling suddenly like a child wishing to touch something she shouldn't. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she ran her fingers lightly across the shoulder of his armor and down the chest, reveling in the cool feel of the metal and punctuated links. Briefly she imagined him in it, thought how fierce he would be appear to his enemies, towering above them with the dark bronze shining in the sun's light. It left her excited and wary as though the armor had a lingering power and life even without its owner present, and after a moment, she turned away from it to break the spell it had on her. Consequently, she stared across the space to the large bed situated against the other wall. Her lip caught between her teeth, and her heart picked up its pace for some reason as she crossed the space and stepped up to the highest level of the room. It was at least three times as wide as her narrow bed at home and situated atop a sturdy stone frame with intricate designs etched into the rock and painted black with a blue background. A rich, dark purple material layered immediately over the frame with a slight fringe hanging over the edge of the stone. On top of that was the padding covered by a blue sheet embroidered intricately along the edges with gold thread. At the head several plump pillows were colored various shades of blue, green, and purple and accented in rich copper around the edges. Above that was a window, wide in width though short in height, with the wooden screens drawn open, allowing the night air inside. Her gaze continued toward the ceiling where two poles extended from the back wall, and a thin gauzy black material hung on either side so that it could be drawn around the bed. Matching stocky bedside tables were on each edge of the large bed and further out were two smaller versions of the fiery bronze basins lining the hallways of the palace. With their flames lighting up the space, she noticed then the walls were painted a rich blue-green, the color of the Aegean Sea, and bordered at the top by a thick strip of midnight blue.

When a stronger breeze swept through the space, she heard a beautiful succession of notes and turned to see a clay chime hanging between two of the columns nearest his bed and looking out over the balcony. She approached it then, pausing to gently finger the small clay pieces hanging from threads attached to an upside down bowl at the top which was painted in earthy tones and etched with swirling designs. It was unlike anything she had seen in Troy and wondered briefly of its origins before her gaze flickered past the piece, and she finally gave into the call of sea, allowing herself to step through the threshold and onto the large balcony. A cluster of variously shaped vases was nestled in the far left corner while to her right was a padded bench pushed against the side of the balcony. Scattered about the floor were several more brightly colored rugs which felt soft under her feet as she padded softly across them. The perimeter of the walls were lined in a square pattern she had noticed about the entire palace, and with another breeze, a sweet smell met her nostrils. While searching for the source, she noticed that thick ivy grew from either side of the balcony, up along the walls of the palace, and bordering the opening to the prince's chambers. Then she noticed further right there were some pots with rich purple crocuses, pure white lenten roses, and large orange lilies. Immediately she approached them and bent to inhale their sweet scent once more, holding the breath as though to allow their scent to linger in her nostrils and closing her eyes to focus entirely on that simple pleasure. Out of the extensive array of beautiful things in his room, these simple pots bearing such exquisite flowers were what she was most envious of, and she ran one finger ever so gently along the curve of a blooming lily's petal, reveling in the softness in contrast to the roughness of her fingertip.

At that moment, a powerful breeze caught the material draped across her, billowing it out at her side, and twisting it wildly around her narrow form with a steady force that disrupted the young woman from her momentary sense of peace. While grumbling irritably about the nature of these complicated Trojan dresses, she clumsily unclasped the gold pin at her left shoulder and set the material across the padded bench, and the wind could no longer berate her body and was left only to toss the various layers of her dress about her legs. She welcomed the cool air on her skin and the consequent chills springing up all over her. It caused a delightful shudder down her spine, and she inhaled the crisp air deep within her lungs, enjoying the sensation in contrast the warmth in her blood from the wine at dinner. For the time she stared off over the dark sea where it glistened restlessly under the full moon's rays, and wondered what lay across it. She recalled Hector's descriptions of the lands in Greece and used every ounce of her imagination to bring those foreign places into her consciousness, perhaps inspired by the exotic surroundings of the palace. Never would she have imagined she would ever face such a dramatic view, and she briefly wondered what her father or brothers would say. How would they react when she returned the next day? Would they be proud or disappointed? Pleased or saddened? Furthermore, a certain question pulsed in the back of her mind: why had Hector called her here at all? If it were for her company at dinner, they had barely spoken, and why would he wish her presence there? What was driving this bizarre plan of action for him? As though in answer, her attention was inwardly drawn to the large bed a feet behind her. Somehow her mind wouldn't allow her to acknowledge that thought, and she drew her hair over her left shoulder and began anxiously combing her fingers through the curls as a means to expel the sudden burst of nervous energy fluttering about her abdomen.

With her full attention elsewhere, she didn't hear the sound of the door opening across the room.

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**Author's Note**: Hey my loves! I have been having such a crazy week! My apartment has turned into a hotel without my knowing haha My mom came to visit for the week and left this morning, and now my boyfriend is driving in to visit. Needless to say my work on the chapter was going at a snail's pace. I know promised some goodies for this chapter, but I feared you guys were getting restless for an update. The chapter was actually at like 1300 words and still going, so I figured I could divide it up so you guys could have something to read while I entertain and finish the next part -in which I swear on my life there is some hotness between Hector & Myrina if it takes me all night to finish! For those of you not familiar with Greek mythology, Cassandra is cursed with being able to see the future but no one believes her prophecies. P.s. I have absolutely no friggin clue about the worth of stuff back in the day and currency. I tried to figure it out, but it was taking too long and wasn't that important… so sorry if it's totally wrong. In case you're curious, I got the inspiration for Myrina's dress from Mila Kunis' red carpet look at the LA premier of Max Payne :) Homegirl can dress!

Thank you Syrena Swift, KawaiiHawaiian, AmyLNelson, and Avatar2009 for the super sweet reviews! You guys rock! Thank you so much for your patience :D

Syrena: Haha! Yes sexy sex is always fun. I hope you aren't too disappointed that I wasn't able to give you the goods just yet! I was trying so hard to finish it, but it was like 23 pages and only getting longer soooo hopefully you don't want to stab me with a spoon. I wouldn't blame you. I pinky promise you'll like what comes next xoxo lovely

Kawaii: Omg! You're so incredibly sweet to review each chapter haha I always appreciate your feedback :) The raven haired girl was honestly just someone Aeneas could do because I figured you guys were a bit restless for someone to finally have some action! Mainly I just wanted to show Aeneas doing his thing because it will come in handy later :D I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Amy: Hey gorgeous! Your bluntness cracked me up. Obviously no doing it yet but you'll see what happens in the next chapter. I keep waiting for you guys to rebel and tell me to stop being such a cock block!

Avatar: I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter and hopefully felt the same way about this and kinda what it leaves to happen in the next one! The girl was just a girl for Aeneas to have fun with sooooo yea. That's why I didn't even bother giving her a name. I just wanted to make her hot so Aeneas could play around and be his usual playboy self for everyone to enjoy :D


	28. All Good Things

Chapter 27  
"All Good Things"

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Recommended Songs: "Crash Into Me" – Dave Matthews Band & "Yellow" – Coldplay

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Hector was a bit irritated when he stepped through the threshold to the welcome privacy of his chambers. The discussions with his father and generals had required more of his time than he had anticipated, and knowing what or rather who awaited him in his room, he was eager to return within these walls. Immediately, his chestnut eyes looked through the open space for any sign of her, but she was nowhere to be seen. This piqued his interest, and he silently descended the steps toward the lowest level in the center of the room. There were not many places to hide in this room, but still, he had to wonder was she hiding from him? Then a flutter of pale blue material glowing in the moonlight caught his eye, and he stepped forward further up to see her, between two of the large stone pillars. There was something ironic about her standing pensively on the balcony considering how many sleepless nights he had stood in the exact same position, staring out over the city because of her, but he was too preoccupied drinking in the sight of her to truly acknowledge it. As in the corridor before dinner, the sight of her momentarily disarmed him, and he admired her openly. The gossamer layers of her gown shifted restlessly around her narrow frame, but he immediately noticed the absence of the material previously draped across her body. Beneath the full moon, the pale material shone brightly, and her exposed bronze skin reflected the golden warmth of the candlelight spilling out of his room, giving her entire silhouette a celestial essence as though she were burning through the darkness, a burst of pure light unto herself. She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she was oblivious to how she beckoned him with her silent siren song, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. As he focused in on her actual shape, his eyes eagerly settled on the portion of naked skin revealed by the dress and followed the sinewy line of her spine down between her delicate shoulder blades until it disappeared beneath the material gathered loosely about her waist. He was aggravated by the interruption when he longed to see what was only hinted to him beneath the fabric. When his gaze travelled once more up her back, he realized she was peering at him from over her shoulder with the slender fingers from one of her hands curled in front of her lips as though to hide the amused smile now curving them upward. By now, she recognized the way his eyes darkened, and she clearly enjoyed drawing such a reaction from him with her mere appearance. He smirked in return, unashamed of his wandering gaze. He may have been the Crown Prince of Troy, but with her, he was only human.

She turned then to face him and placed her hands on her hips as she commented, "It's very rude to leave me waiting, Prince."

A clever retort sprung from his mind but was caught in his throat as he noted how the deep cut from the back of the dress was reflected in the front, and the pale moonlight illuminated the curve of her collarbones, the slight depression of her sternum, and to his pleasure, the bare curves of her breasts disappearing beneath her dress. As before, he was irritated with the material covering her supple skin and hiding her from him. The exposed surface whet his appetite, and the smirk tugged at his lips once more as he slowly approached her, all the while still eying the hints of her available to him and hungry for more. He considered her from under his brow and wondered, "How can I make it up to you?"

With his burly figure now towering over her and those dark orbs burning into her, her courage waned, and she turned away from him coyly while peering back over the balcony. "I haven't decided," she said playfully, attempting to lighten the expectant, tense mood now settling between them.

Unfortunately, the response came off far more seductive from his angle, and he stepped forward until his shirt was subtly grazing her bare back. "Are you still upset with me?" he asked gently while bowing his head closer to her and inhaling the familiar scent now accented with warm floral notes from the oils the servants had swirled in her bath.

She swallowed heavily at the proximity between them and despite their intimate encounters before, it still felt like it was their first time. The steady realization humming within her that there would be no one to interrupt them had her feeling cornered, more so by her own desire than anything else. Conversely, he was advancing more swiftly on her, bolder on his own territory and clearly not experiencing a mutual sensation. "Perhaps," she finally answered vaguely, uncertain whether to continue their game or to bow out then. Some piece of her pride swelled, refusing to let her shrink away from him so soon, afraid of appearing foolish and childish in front of him.

The unspecific answer made him smile against her hair, and he drew his fingertips along the soft skin of her arms. "Let me apologize properly."

"There's no need," she assured him and nervously licked her dry lips, but she was beginning to understand all too late that they were having two entirely different conversations.

His brow creased slightly at the response which seemed to contradict her prior attitude, but he merely resolved she was playing hard to get. It encouraged him to be more convincing. "Myrina..." he said in a lowered voice, revealing he wouldn't surrender so easily. But she shook her head, and her voice caught in her throat when he kissed her temple first, trailing further along her cheek and down her jaw. She unconsciously tilted her head back to meet every kiss as he moved lower and lower. Seeing her stubborn attitude surface in opposition to her body's response to him, the corners of his lips lifted in an all-knowing smile. He lingered a while longer in the dip beneath her jaw, feeling her relax back against him with a soft sigh of pure bliss as he savored the sensitive skin. His arms wrapped around her slender waist to mold her against him, and she turned her face while reaching back to cup his chin and pull his lips to her own, surrendering on some level to his seduction and the consequent desire it stirred in her. Her backside pressed against him with greater force to steady herself, and she let her head angle even more as he deepened the kiss, loosing himself momentarily in the taste of her full lips while his hands promptly explored her curves through the thin material of her dress. One hand cupped her breast, feeling the skin already harden against his palm at his mere touch, and he shifted the position of his hand to run his fingertips lightly over the peak. In response, her body moved restlessly against him, rubbing her bottom beneath his hips and unwittingly taunting him. His hand reached down further between her legs to caress her through the material while the other drew the shoulder of her dress down her arm. She pulled away from him immediately and reached to return her dress' position.

"Hector… Someone will see," she hissed self-consciously, now straining to regain her wits from where she had lost herself in his kiss and persuasive hands.

His hands cupped her hips and pulled her back to him without releasing his grip, and he murmured near her ear in a lowered voice raspy with desire, "So let them see." His chestnut eyes burned into her when she peered up at him, momentarily mesmerizing her with the raw need reverberating through them. Without losing her gaze, his hands tore the top of her dress down from her shoulders, allowing the material to fall and expose the caramel skin beneath. Chills swept across her skin when the night air kissed her bare breasts, and her eyelids fluttered as she awakened from her silent trance like the warm appetite within her, craving for his kiss, his touch, his heated skin. One of his calloused hands followed the material down the curve of her side, dipping in at her narrow waist and swelling out over her hips and backside. She shuddered as the dress fell fully to pool around her feet, and she was left completely exposed to the night shrouding them and to his hands still welcoming every inch of her skin. She felt undeniably shy in her open position, and she self-consciously drew her arms over her chest when his hands circled lower to cup her waist. With his mouth still on her neck, the bristle of his beard scratched at the crook of her neck, and all at once, she giggled at the ticklish feeling and squirmed in his grip; but Hector did not join her in the laughter. One moment she was taunting him, seducing him even with her flirtatious words, the next she was turning away from him, then she was welcoming his touch, and now she was laughing! Did she think it was all a petty, innocent little game between them? Did she not realize how frustrating it was for him to please her, kiss her, feel her and not have her? Maybe she thought his patience was never-ending, that she could constantly push his boundaries with him always restraining himself from lavishing at her the way he yearned for? Well, she thought wrong…

As his agitating thoughts consumed his mind, he unintentionally stilled behind her, and Myrina easily noticed he was irritated by something and twisted around to face him, searching his eyes for some clue as to the source of his annoyance. He stared back with a narrowed gaze, already closing himself off from her, and she quickly lifted herself onto the balls of her feet, took his face between her hands, and pressed her lips onto his, trying to ease his anger since she somehow felt responsible. Initially, he pulled away, but she held onto his face and followed him when he moved back. Her insistence broke him within moments, and he was unable to resist the plump flesh pressed against his lips. He wanted to devour them too badly to fight it anymore and forced her back against the stone wall of the balcony so that she couldn't squirm away from him again. The cold rock chilled her heated skin, and she forced more pressure between them, trying to flee from the uncomfortable feeling. But Hector kept her wedged there until the square edges cut into her lower back, scraping the delicate skin anytime she tried to shift away. She was forced to surrender to him there and gave into the desire humming within her. Her hands impatiently tore the edge of his shirt from its position and forced it up his chest and over his head when he lifted his arms. When their bodies pressed together once more, the heat of his skin nearly burned her. His arms cradled her upper body and crushed her against him, and he loved the way her hardened nipples stood out in contrast to the soft flesh surrounding them and dug into his chest. A whimper left her lips, and he recognized it as one of pain, not pleasure. He was pushing her up against the stone wall too hard, and in his blinding desire, he did not notice. Immediately, he backed off, keeping his grip around her as he lifted her off her feet. Her legs wrapped around his hips to help hold herself up, and he slipped an arm around her waist to gently massage at the indentation the wall had left in her skin as he directed them toward a more appropriate place to continue with a soft padding that wouldn't disrupt the delicate lines of her silhouette.

With her arms tightly gripping his shoulders and legs wrapped around his waist, she could not see where he was taking her, but somehow she felt no fear and blindly trusted him. Her mouth was left to roam free over his neck, and she dragged her lips over a tiny white scar on his skin, focusing her kisses there as though she could heal the wound from so long ago. Hector easily knelt one knee at a time on the padding of his bed, and his hands moved from supporting her against him to unwind and grasp her slender hips. At the feeling, Myrina straightened to look into the lust-filled chestnut eyes and knew in that moment where he had brought her. While tightening her grip around his waist, she released her upper body back, careful to maintain his gaze, and allowed her palms to fall from his muscular shoulders, down his chest, and ending with her fingertips at his abdomen until she could no longer reach him. Her upper back landed first on the bed, and she rolled down allowing each inch of her back to fall in time, finally ending when she released her legs from around him and her bottom met the bed. Instead of following her and laying his body atop her own, he took a moment to drink in her naked silhouette lying there as though privately on display for him alone. For once, she didn't shy away from him and attempt to cover herself. Her russet curls were mussed and fighting against the pins restraining them where they fanned out in a halo upon the blue material of his sheets. Her cheeks were flushed, a faint pink warming the surface of her caramel skin, and her full coral lips were parted before him. The candlelight accentuated her pointed features, the high cheekbones, narrow nose, slender jaw, and his attention lingered on the turquoise eyes laced with desire and peering unhindered up at him. She wasn't afraid of showing him her longing. His gaze fell lower below her narrow shoulders to the rounded breasts pulled apart by gravity, emphasizing the soft curve surrounding them despite their small slopes, and punctuated by the hardened dark skin in the center asking for his kiss. Gradually, he continued his journey to note the edge of her ribs barely poking out from under the skin stretched over them, the slight indention of her stomach falling back toward her spine, the slender dip at her waist, the narrow slit of her navel, her flattened abdomen with her hips bones poking out subtly, and finally peering down his own form where the dark curls settled over her pubic bone. The pink flesh beneath barely peeked through, and he recognized how much more he yearned to see.

His hands had fallen on her upper thighs, and he now eagerly allowed them to move lower toward her hips, still entranced by the dark curls and straining to see more of the rosy flesh. Then her hands gripped his forearms, and she pulled him with such an abrupt force that he fell forward, barely catching himself with his elbows before colliding on top of her. He had no time to grasp his bearings for she grabbed his face and kissed him so passionately and deeply that he momentarily forgot his current position or surroundings. In his numb state, he didn't help her when her hands reached down between them and untied the knotted material at his waist. She was unable to reach any farther, and her knees pressed against his sides, steadily drawing the material down his legs. Seeing him openly drink in her naked appearance had stirred a fiery need within her. Instead of shying before him, she suddenly felt empowered and though beneath him, she was somehow in control –at least until he regained his wits. She placed her right foot on the bed at his side and gradually pushed her weight into her foot, attempting to push him over onto his back. It would require his cooperation considering the weight of his body on top of her, and she kissed him more fiercely, attempting to convince him it would be well worth it. He lifted himself up slightly and peered down at her with an unreadable expression, searching her lust-filled eyes, before conceding and rolling over to place her astride his now naked waist where he could feel the wet heat of her core bearing down on him. She smiled victoriously to herself and began trailing kisses down his jaw until she reached his ear where she nibbled the lobe lightly. His hands rubbed up and down her, from her shoulder blades all the way down to her backside and back, allowing her to do what she wished to him for the moment until his patience ran out. Her mouth led her lower down his neck, feeling his erratic pulse through the thin skin, until she reached the crook where his neck met his shoulder. She centered herself then, pausing to bury the tip of her tongue in the notch between his collarbones –her own personal ode to the wolf of her fantasy. She peered up at him through her lashes and moved lower down his chest while noting who had taken on the role of the predator. For once, she was on the hunt.

One hand joined her in her quest down his chest, flattening her palm over his skin and admiring how the muscles tensed and flexed beneath her touch. His abdomen rippled out beneath her, taut as he fought against the need threatening to overcome him. He clenched his eyes closed, but he didn't dare stop her as her velvety lips fell beneath his sternum. Her fingers ran along the punctuated muscles, teasing him with her light touch and how she never dipped below a certain point. Likewise, her lips grazed his skin, barely hovering above the surface so that her hot breath trickled over the surface to caress the surrounding area. His hands unconsciously gripped the sheets while straining to gather the tattered remains of his self-control. Her mouth had stumbled upon a trail of dark hair guiding her lower down the center of his abdomen, to his navel, and even beneath. She hesitated around his navel, still too shy to truly dare any lower, and she peered curiously through her eyelashes up at him to see what effect she had on him. Feeling her pull away, he lifted his head from the bed to consider her with eyes so full of desire, it was nearly overwhelming, and at first she was taken aback by the raw look. She grinned mischievously, knowing that she had caused it, and felt satisfied with herself for finally being able to give him some sense of pleasure as well.

The grin reminded him of the giggle earlier in the night, and all at once, her short-live reign was ended. He gripped her shoulders, threw her down on the bed, and hovered over her, poised to take her once and for all and rid himself of her venom, of the power she had over him with her teasing. Staring down into her face, the smile had slipped away, and she seemed to realize what was threatening her. Instead of appearing fearful and apprehensive as she should have, she looked back at him, openly yearning for it –for _him_. There had never been a time when she was so overt in her longing for him, and clearly she had stopped fighting it. With her legs spread beneath him, the obvious option tempted him to lower his hips and satisfy her, but a much more alluring plan itched at the back of his mind, persuading him with its abrupt brilliance. How many times had she tempted him? How long had he been waiting for her? Their various encounters piled up in his mind, and suddenly, a pleased smirk tugged at his lips. As his resolve in the plan grew, so did his sense of self-control, and he knew his time for payback had come. It was her turn to wait – to know what it felt like to be taunted with what she wanted, but he wouldn't give her that satisfaction this time. Her blue-green eyes searched his, undoubtedly noticing the shift in his temperament but unable to understand the source. His lips claimed her before she could even voice the question creeping onto her face, and he kissed her deeply, forcing her to forget her conviction and reminding her how easily he could regain control and manipulate her desire. In turn, she was bordering on impatience and kissed him back fervently, still attempting to push them forward to an improper end. He began kissing along her jaw, irritating her with his insistence to start over again. Her hips shifted restlessly beneath him as though to tell him she was ready then, but he ignored her, letting his trail fall down the length of her slender neck and still lower until he reached the valley between her bust which had called for him earlier that evening.

He took his time kissing along the curve beneath her breast and out around the side before modifying his course further in. She worried at her lower lip as she felt him drawing slowly closer and closer toward the bud in the center. His patience and how he addressed every inch aside from the hardened skin, swelling up and begging for his attention, was driving her crazy, and she squirmed beneath the unfulfilled waves of want and desire coursing through her blood. Her hands gripped his shoulders tightly, and finally his lips closed around her nipple, barely sucking on the surface and causing her to writhe with greater force. His teeth took hold of the skin and tugged against gravity, pulling it up to lightly roll it between his teeth. His tongue flicked across the tip, and she moaned loudly, bucking her hips up against him at the sensation spreading like wildfire through her. He cupped her other breast and pushed it inward, making an easier transition as he moved from one nipple to the other, sucking it between his lips and wrapping his tongue around the hardened skin. The cool night air swirled around the wet skin he had abandoned and caused her to shudder slightly against the feeling while he devoured the bud with as much patient consideration as the other. His hot mouth covered it once more, and she closed her eyes in pure bliss as he took his time savoring each again and again. The contrast between the chilly night air and heat of his mouth made the pleasure build steadily within her and pulse between her legs, but it was nothing compared to what he had planned for her. Finally, he pulled away from the two swollen, wet peaks, content with his diligence, and his journey continued down her stomach. She squirmed uncertainly beneath him when his mouth dipped lower than it ever had before, fearing his descent but trusting him all the same. Perhaps he was only mimicking her actions earlier, and she believed such when he likewise lingered around her waist, drawing a line of kisses across the narrow dip until he paused above her navel. Then his trail continued lower, and Myrina immediately sat up in alarm to stop him. Hector straightened and covered her mouth in a tender kiss, soothing her abrupt uneasiness. She stubbornly wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled down, attempting to force him back on top of her and into a position where she felt protected by his body, but he simply unraveled her arms and allowed her to fall back onto the bed without him. She scrambled back to a seated position, but he gripped her hips and pushed her toward the edge of the bed so that he could rest on his stomach if he pleased and reach her more easily.

With him so near her inner thighs where he could see every piece of her, her shyness and uncertainty suddenly took hold, and she sputtered, "Hector, stop." She was unable to close her legs with him between them and tried to scoot away from him on the bed. She realized only too late that he had her angled horizontally across the frame and that she would tumble to the floor if she moved any farther. His large hands firmly held her hips down, pinning her in place, but she was not nearly through struggling. She pushed against him with her hands on his chest, arms, anything she could reach. He quickly took her wrists and forced them down on the bed at her sides, and he placed his forearms on her thighs to keep them still. She was left incapable of releasing herself, and she stared at him with fearful eyes where he was kneeling between her legs while pleading, "Stop. Please."

He was so calm peering back at her that the vast discrepancy in their behaviors was almost humorous, and he gently said, "Trust me." For a time they stared at each other at a standoff, but something in his gaze eased her fears. When he felt the tension in her arms soften, he cautiously released her wrists one at a time, pausing for a moment to be sure she wouldn't fight him again. He pulled back slowly until he was in line with her knees and turned his head to place a soft kiss on the inside of her right knee. She dropped her head back, falling over the edge of the bed where her breathing was slightly restricted and the blood flowed into her head. Ignoring the discomfort, she closed her eyes while gnawing at her lip, completely uncomfortable with his proximity but beginning to realize how powerless she was especially in this position. Suddenly she felt caught between her two fears: one of not being able to see him and anticipate his next move and the other of seeing him so intimately enjoying her. His next kiss was further in, and he painstakingly drew his lips inch by inch across the tender, sensitive skin of her inner thigh. The muscles of her leg practically shuddered against his lips, flexing and releasing anxiously beneath him. When he reached the very edge of her inner thigh, she squirmed uncomfortably and gripped tightly at the sheets until her knuckles turned white. She held her breath when he passed by inches away from her core and started the same process with her left knee, dragging his mouth kiss by kiss across the surface until he once more reached the center. Feeling his hot breath trail over the intimate flesh of her lips, she lost control and began fighting him off again, pushing at his head and scrambling to sit up. It was a short lived struggle since he grasped her beneath her knees and forced them back and down until they touched the fabric of his sheets on either side of her ribs, effectively pinning her to the bed. She attempted to push back against him with all the strength in her legs, but he held them firmly there and shifted onto his stomach to reach her more easily. All sense of privacy was lost to Myrina in a flash, and he could take anything he pleased with her so incapacitated. He gently kissed the curls on the crook between her leg and lips. Immediately, her hand reached between her legs since she was unable to sit up, and she pushed at his forehead, attempting to force him away by the only means she had left. He ignored her easily and moved across to place a kiss on the other side, always taking the time to mirror his actions as though the night endlessly stretched out for him to tease her. He was so close that she could feel his breath on her, and she struggled vainly against him while the panic sprung unhindered within her.

"Stop," she begged in a gasp of air, but it was her final plea. His mouth fell on her clit, and her back arched forcefully from the crown of her head all the way through the end as she moaned loudly. The hand pushing against his head now grabbed a handful of dark curls, and he ran his tongue over the swollen bud, causing her to fall back onto the bed and to squirm against him. The pleasure was more than she had ever experienced, and it overwhelmed her all at once like a bolt of lightning straight through her. He drew a line down through her lips, granting her a momentary reprieve from that intensity, and he parted the wet flesh, tasting her more fully and allowing his tongue to slowly slip from end to end. Each time he met her clit, she shuddered beneath him, and her breath caught in her throat, unable to voice the potent pleasure gripping her abdomen. Noting how it affected her, his lips circled the bud, and he faintly sucked on the surface, causing her to writhe restlessly against him. His tongue flicked across it, and the strength of the pleasure shooting through her was almost painful, causing her to press her legs against his hands and to push him away with her hand as she tried to fight him off. He held her down with more force in response and continued stroking his tongue over the area, feeling her quiver with every movement. It was more than she could bear, and she pushed at his head with both hands while whimpering softly in protest. Finally, he conceded and moved lower, and she abruptly relaxed now that she was free from that powerful feeling. Her breath was drawn and shaky, and her head was dizzy and spinning from the blood rushing into it. Her vision blurred so that she could no longer focus on the paintings on the columns behind her, and all the colors melded together in a fuzzy haze. She clenched her eyes closed, and her hands fell from his head to either side of her hips in exhaustion.

Hector took this as a sign of her surrender and removed one of his hands from under her knee to reach around and cup her breast, momentarily drawing her attention to a different area of her body. Without thinking, she placed her hand on top of his own and tucked her fingers around it to hold it firmly, granting herself some semblance of security, and her leg relaxed forward to a more comfortable angle until the ball of her foot grazed his upper back. She remembered his position between her legs only a second later when his tongue delved deeper into her than ever before. She gripped his hand more forcefully, and her heel pressed into his shoulder blade as she stilled completely, tense from head to toe. He penetrated her gently, unable to force his way in too far, but it crossed a boundary in her mind from their harmless play into something literally prying at her innocence. Isidora's cautioning words ran through her head, 'Guard your virtue. It is the only power we women have.' Yet there she was subdued and rendered powerless by him while he explored her without her fighting him off. By then she understood trying to overcome him was pointless, and the full realization of it took her aback. Without harsh words or chains to bind her, he made it clear that he could take whatever he wished from her, and she was left awaiting his next move, stunned by the simultaneous pleasure and fear. Beyond her vulnerable state, what truly frightened her was how some part of her deep down enjoyed it. His mouth left her without explanation, and she relaxed once more against the soft padding. He reclaimed the hand on her breast and moved it between her legs, dipping the tips of two of his fingers into her to replace his tongue. Her hips shifted uncomfortably, trying to keep him from pushing in too deep with his unyielding touch. They were larger and firmer so that she could feel their every movement. Rather than pushing into her completely, he kept them at the opening, massaging back and forth to subtly press into her each time. His eyes roamed up her body, glistening from the light sweat covering it, up to where her hand was still gripping her breast and digging into the soft flesh. She had been too tense to remove it, and currently her full attention was on his two fingers between her legs and nothing else. The sight aroused him further, and his mouth fell around her clit once more to roll his tongue across the bud while his fingers maintained a steady pace. The combination pushed her beyond her limits, making her lose control, and she moaned out her approval while her hips rocked against his mouth and fingers to give her even more pleasure. With every breathless gasp and moan, he knew he was drawing her closer, and he released her knee to grip her hip. The pleasure tightened around her abdomen, making her hips shift with more force, and the hand on her breast fell lower to grasp his hand, gripping it tightly and warning him of how near she was.

Suddenly he moved further up her body until his mouth claimed her own in a fierce kiss, and he scooped her up into his arms, cradling her firmly against his chest. She could taste herself on his lips, and her core pulsed powerfully between her legs, a constant reminder of her unfulfilled desire. She kissed him with all the passion and need he had stirred within her while clinging tightly to his neck. One of his arms balanced their weight on the bed while the other took her hip and pulled her away from the edge. When he laid her down next, her head was supported by the bed, and she relaxed back, reveling in that comfort. He slipped out of her arms until he was kneeling with his knees on either side of her bottom and her legs draped over his own. Now that her head had ceased spinning, her reason steadily returned, and when his eyes gazed down at her core, she modestly lifted her legs until her knees were pressed together, hiding herself from his sight. Hector seemed unconcerned with this and didn't attempt to pry them apart as before. Instead, he shifted forward slightly, and her feet pressed against his chest, warily holding him back with the last of her waning strength. She felt something entirely new push between her legs, slipping within her lips but without delving any deeper. Like his tongue earlier, it slid from top to bottom, teasing the swollen bud each time it passed. With her legs held firmly together, she was blind to what he was doing, and her ignorance left her somewhat uneasy. The repetitive motion pleased her, but it was not enough to push her to the edge. She closed her eyes to focus on the feeling and released the tension in her legs, allowing his body forward further in an attempt to force more pressure between them – enough to give her satisfaction. The tension between them gradually grew, centering over her opening and threatening to push within. The sensation shifted from pleasure to discomfort on the border of pain, and she opened her eyes to see what he was doing. Realizing that both his hands were on the bed, she abruptly became aware of what was causing her unease. She felt blindsided all at once, and it caused a slight panic within her. Immediately her feet pressed into his chest, forcing him back, and the pressure between them suddenly ended when it slipped from her lips upward and between her slick inner thighs. With her head lifted, she saw the tip shift into her line of sight, and she choked on her own breath. She found her desire interrupted by her slight fear, now facing what exactly would take her innocence, and she felt intimidated by the man looming over her.

Hector looked down at her and realized her fear; he did not want to dishonor her nor make her shy away from him, but with how tight and wet she felt to his touch, he craved to have a little bit more of her. He bent forward then, folding her legs between their bodies, and brushed his lips across her own. She numbly kissed back, still stunned by his hardened manhood where it was pressed into her abdomen, only inches away from her. When he pulled away to peer into her eyes, she pleaded, "Don't."

His lips caressed her cheek and her temple, and he promised in a calm tone, "I would never hurt you." He kissed her once more, and she returned the kiss, slightly bolstered by his words. He then straightened, giving her cramped legs a reprieve from bearing his weight, but she was still too shy and scared to part them and give him too much access to her. He drew his hips back until his length was poised behind her only to shift forward once more, burying himself between her thighs. The heat, pressure, and wetness felt similar to what he truly desired, but this was as close as they could venture without him taking her. His movements were slow at first as he gauged her reaction, but with each advance, his shaft rubbed above her swollen bud, indirectly stimulating it and pleasing her as well. The tightness in her muscles slowly faded away as his pace increased, causing the pleasure to grow for her as well. Her full bottom lip caught between her teeth, and she stared up at the ceiling, too apprehensive to lift her head and watch him. The threat still lingered in the back of her mind though Hector had never voiced it: this is what would happen if she pushed him too far. That uncomfortable, borderline painful pressure was only a hint, and now she could feel him sliding between her thighs, invading her without truly penetrating her. Her hands tightly gripped the sheets, and she exhaled shakily through her nose when his hips hit the back of her thighs with more force, causing her to shift subtly back and forth on the bed beneath him. Her breasts swayed with the motion, taunting her with the attention it brought back to her sensitive nipples, and she moaned softly against her clenched teeth. She felt his gaze on her, and reluctantly her eyes shifted to lock with his own. Their chestnut depths burned into her like the embers of a snuffed flame, flooding her narrow form with a new wave of want and piercing through her until she momentarily forgot her fear and shyness while staring back at him. The satisfaction he gave her pushed to the forefront of her consciousness, and her eyes closed in bliss to focus in on that sensation. The soft sheets rubbed at her back, and several damp curls clung to her back, shoulders, neck, and jaw; and her heart thundered within her chest. The sweat between her legs made the skin slick so that it was difficult to keep them pressed together with his intensified movements, and the muscles subtly quivered in a mixture of exhaustion and pleasure. His hardened shaft cut through the supple flesh time and time again, and his eyes focused on her breasts moving with each thrust, her eyes closed in bliss, her full lips parted in an unspoken moan. She looked so beautiful and provocative, and he bent forward to claim those lips as his own. One of her hands buried into his unruly curls to draw him closer, and his weight on top of her caused his sex to bear down on her with more force. With her knees pressed between their bodies, her hips were angled forward more, and his length rubbed directly onto her clit. She moaned into his mouth, and he deepened their kiss, allowing his tongue to slip between her lips and massage against her own as he coaxed wave after wave of pleasure to crash through them both.

Her other arm wrapped beneath him to curl around and grip his shoulder, and her mouth moved beyond his lips to nibble and lick at the salty layer of sweat on his neck. He groaned low in his throat, near a growl, and she pulled on his head to draw him lower until she could reach his earlobe and gently suck on the soft skin, straining to please him more. His next thrust was harder in response, and she suddenly moaned beside his ear at the sensation it caused for her. The sound sent a shiver of satisfaction down his spine to settle in his groin, and he felt himself drawing near. The simple fact that it was her beneath him, writhing in pleasure and moaning in his ear, drove him crazy, and the months of teasing and pent up desire guarded by a supreme amount of self-control were finally coming to a head. That release and satisfaction was on the horizon, and he lifted himself off of her once more for a better angle into her and so he could watch her. One of his arms wrapped around her legs to hold them in place since the muscles had grown numb between them, and she had lost the ability to control them any longer. She was left completely powerless beneath him with no desire to fight him off and simply allowing to him to have his fill. He crashed into her harder and faster than ever before until it was almost painful for her, and she could hear the sound of their sweaty flesh hitting with every thrust. It would have seemed vulgar to her were she not so consumed by her lust and caught up in the moment with him. Her eyes were wide open and staring up at him, watching him draw near to his end. The desire lining his expression was so raw and sensual that she licked at her lips, and his attention shifted from her chest up to her eyes. Their lust-filled depths pushed him over the edge, and with one final thrust, he buried himself completely between her thighs. The need turning his abdomen into a tense knot released with a surge of pure blissful satisfaction, burning behind his closed lids, and he held onto her tightly, not allowing her to move immediately in his wake when he was so sensitive. She stilled with him, but it was less out of obedience and more out of utter surprise as her mind slowly acknowledged the heat of his essence trailing over her stomach and pooling between her breasts. It was unlike anything she had ever felt before, and she couldn't find the courage to actually lift her head and see it. Instead, she peered up at the ceiling with an unwavering gaze, almost falling into a meditative state as the reality of what had just happened seeped into her brain. Her skin burned as though the sweat was liquid fire lining her silhouette with the want still shifting deep inside her, and her breath was shaky and drawn as her heart beat unsteadily in her chest.

Hector finally released her legs, and they fell open on either side of his waist without hesitation. Staring down at her, he noted that the fight was gone from her completely, and she lay on the bed, staring blankly above them. Seeing his semen tainting her caramel skin and how she purposely would not look at him, he felt somewhat crude for his actions, but it was a better option than dishonoring her. He could have taken something far more precious than her pride, but he cared for her too much. He would finally make her his own when they were married, and until then, he clearly had warned her of the consequences of pushing him beyond his boundaries; and perhaps she could better understand the frustration he felt each time she taunted him. He slipped from the bed then, welcoming the rush of night air around his naked body to cool him faster, and padded over to a small table to his right where his washbowl was situated. He grabbed the linen rag beside it, knelt on the bed next to her once more, and began gently cleaning off her breasts, stomach, and between her thighs. She turned her head away from him, suddenly embarrassed by what he was doing, and her cheeks flushed as she closed her eyes. Once she was clean, he haphazardly tossed the rag aside to the floor and considered her limp body with a discerning gaze, attempting to read whatever was going on inside her mind. With her face turned away from him, it was an impossible task, and he tenderly reached over to grasp her pointed chin between his thumb and forefinger and encourage her to face him. Initially, she hesitated, but after a moment, she allowed him to direct her chin but kept her gaze self-consciously downcast. His hand shifted to cup her cheek, and he caressed the soft skin with his thumb while straining to think of something appropriate to say to her. The proper words eluded him, so he bent forward to brush his lips across her cheek, her forehead, her lips, and he lingered there and kissed her tenderly again and again. She didn't return the kiss since the stunned daze still lingered over her, numbing her from head to toe, but gradually her lips moved to match his own, welcoming that soothing comfort. He pulled away to peer down at her until her eyes fluttered open uncertainly and met his gaze.

"Are you angry with me?" he asked softly and stroked back the damp curls clinging to her temples and forehead. Her attention flickered away momentarily before returning to him, and they stared at each other for silent minutes. She barely shook her head. Her silence gave him another impression, but he recognized the look in her eyes as apprehension and uncertainty, not fury. Thus, he sought to reassure her and reached over to retrieve one of the full pillows from the head of his bed, nestling it behind him and lying back on it. Once settled, he took her elbow and guided her against his side in the same way he had nearly a month ago. She easily found her place in the slight crook between his chest and shoulder, nuzzling her cheek against his skin, and the remainder of her body lined up with his until there wasn't an inch of space between them from her cheek down through her toes. His left arm cradled her to him, and he idly ran the tips of his fingers from the swell of her hip, down the curve of her waist, up to the base of her ribs, and back. In their current position, they faced his balcony and could see out through the stone columns to the black sky punctuated by stars and shimmering Aegean Sea in the distance. The cool night breeze occasionally swept through the space, trailing over their naked bodies pressing together, but the heat between them and the fire in the center of the room were enough to keep the chill away. The view soothed her, and her body relaxed completely against him as her eyes closed. She focused on the echo of his steady heartbeat, the subtle rise and fall of his chest with his every breath, and the callused tips of his fingers still etching out random designs over her skin. He seemed the draw the uneasy energy from her with his touch alone, and a peaceful sensation settled over both of them until his hand rested comfortably in the dip at her waist. He turned to kiss the crown of her head, burying his face into the curls there, so that with each inhale he absorbed her scent almost taking her within himself and simultaneously sinking further into her. Her hand curled into a loose fist on his chest, and his right hand met it to idly nestle his fingers between her folded grip. Her palm opened to him without hesitation, and he ran his fingers randomly across the small surface, twining with her own or simply caressing outward from her palm to the tips of her fingers as he pleased. She knew he was not tender often, and so she reveled in how gently he cradled her to his side and how lightly he stroked her hand. In that way, he recognized her vulnerability and treated her with all the kindness of a lover, not a hardened soldier.

With a stronger gust of wind, a beautiful succession of notes rang out to interrupt the silence shrouding them. It was a sound Hector had long become accustomed to and consequently ignored, but when he felt her shift beside him, he perked up to see what had caught her interest. Her head lifted from his shoulder, and she watched the clay parts clink together as they swayed in the breeze. His gaze turned to consider the chime, and he recalled, "When I was a boy, my father travelled across the seas to the east to create an alliance with Tithonus, the ruler of Ethiopia… I was upset that he wouldn't allow me to sail with him, so he brought me the chime back. He said one of their seers blessed it to always bring the owner good fortune in life." Hector smirked slightly to himself, remembering how honored he had been to receive the magical relic from his father and how completely he had believed in its power. With that in mind, he considered the outline of her profile still turned toward the chime, and he was now smiling in amusement as he continued, "Each piece symbolizes the components of a prosperous life, and he told my father every time the wind blows, it scatters joy, wisdom, strength, and… I've forgotten the rest."

For a while, the silence seeped back between them, but she didn't settle down beside him, still staring at the chime. Her velvety voice met his ears, "Do you think it's true?"

"No," he admitted with a chuckle, entertained by her curiosity and pleased she was actually speaking with him even if it were about something trivial. While waiting for her to respond, he considered the back of her head and noted the two large gold pins which had been tucked neatly back when the night began. Now they were off center and astray with one knotted up into her curls from their actions earlier. With all the gentleness he could muster, he patiently untangled the first pin, unwrapping bits of hair and carefully tugging at others until he was able to draw it out completely and set it aside. The next one was easier to manage, and once they were both removed, the curls tumbled unhindered about her shoulders. They were no longer combed into perfect coils and cropped up untamed all over especially in the back from lying on the bed, and when she turned slightly to look at him, he tucked a piece out of her eyes and behind her ear to have a better look at her face in the candlelight.

There were still hints of apprehension in how her courage wavered when she looked at him, and she eventually dropped her gaze to observe the way her hair tumbled over his skin instead of meeting his. "Why not?"

"What?" he asked, disappointed with how soon she turned her eyes away from his own. He traced the line of her cheekbone with a soft brush of his knuckles and felt her nudge her face a bit closer to his hand, causing him to cup her cheek with his palm. She welcomed the comfort of his touch but could not face his dark eyes, and she burrowed the side of her face into his large palm as though to hide away from him. Gently, he requested, "Myrina, look at me."

She hesitantly peered up at him through her lashes while keeping her chin angled down so that she didn't meet his gaze straight on. "Why don't you believe?"

"Why would I?" he countered with a hint of chagrin.

"You've been lucky in life."

"It is not luck. I've worked hard for all I have."

She trailed one finger over the scar running across his left eye. "You don't believe there is something else to it?" Her countenance and tone were void of emotion so that he couldn't be sure where she was guiding their conversation or for what purpose.

His eyes narrowed somewhat, and he clarified, "You mean the gods."

She shrugged lightly, evidently not even certain what she meant. "The gods… a magical wind chime… anything."

"I've worshipped the gods all my life, but I've never seen Apollo reach down from the heavens to stop an enemy's blade… I don't expect them to interfere directly in my life, and I won't blindly anticipate their intervention for the same reason I won't charge into battle without my armor." His tone was soft despite the nature of his words as though they were only discussing the weather or something else insignificant.

In turn, she grew quiet, undoubtedly thinking over his response, and he continued stroking the stray curls away from her face and shoulders to fall along her back. After a moment, she decided, "They must have a hand in our lives."

"Why do you say that?"

Her clear turquoise eyes met his gaze, and one corner of her mouth barely lifted in a partial smile. "Because I imagine they had a sense of humor when they made our paths cross."

He laughed lightly at the quip, pleased to see her mood shifting, and his hand fell from her hair to cup her cheek with his fingers curling around to her neck while his thumb stroked at her skin. Her smile grew to mirror his own, and with her naked body lying beside him and her beautiful smile lighting up her face and directed toward him alone, he had to acknowledge the truth in her words as he commented, "I have been lucky."

Watching his chestnut eyes warm with an emotion she had never seen before, his meaning was unmistakable. She shied away from the words since he had never really said anything of that nature before. Instead, she wondered for the umpteenth time that night, "Why did you call me here?"

"I wanted to see you," he answered earnestly.

"Then you could have ridden to me."

"I've been too busy, Myrina. I did not know when I would have another chance."

With the reminder, she recalled the conversation at dinner and easily pieced together the truth. "Where is Thebe?"

His face fell in a way that revealed her intuition was right. "South."

"And you'll travel there?"

"Yes."

His ambiguous answers couldn't satisfy her concern, and she pressed, "Why?"

"The Hittites are attempting to invade Thebe… Our army marches south to fend them off," he finally answered, dreading how she would look when she received the news.

It was what she had suspected, but it saddened her all the same. He had a way of weaving so effortlessly through her life: there one moment and gone the next. The abrupt entrance and exit had her disoriented, and she completely lost her handle on their relationship in the wake of what had happened between them this night. Was this how the rest of their lives would play out? An endless game of cat and mouse and stealing away moments together? The notion made her chest tighten with a dull pain. "I never have you."

"What are you saying?" he asked with a furrowed brow, confused by the abrupt shift in conversation.

"I've spent so many years of my life waiting for you, Hector," she explained softly. "Whether it is waiting for you to return from war or simply waiting for you to ride in to visit me... But I never have you." There was no malice, no aggravation to her tone. It was pure honesty.

He frowned at the melancholy look in her eyes. "I told you long ago that I could not see you as often as you might like. I've been named as a general to lead a contingent south. I have responsibilities and duties. I can't abandon it all for you."

"I don't expect you to," she assured him and sighed, choosing how to clarify herself better. "I just don't understand what you want of me... I don't know what we've become. You invite me here on a whim without any explanation. Now my family knows, and when I return tomorrow, I don't know what I will say to them when they ask why I was called here at all." The thought had lingered about her mind for weeks, ever since she revealed her true feelings to him without them being returned. Voicing her concerns now, her stomach fluttered nervously, and she feared he might confirm her worst suspicions -that she was another faceless, nameless woman only called upon to entertain him. Rather than answering, his brow lifted, and he smirked provokingly. It only perturbed her as though he found her distress amusing, and she warned, "I'm not another trinket for you to play with. You cannot call me here, dress me up, and expect to keep me for as long as you please."

Without warning, his smirk morphed into a broad grin as her temper began to show, and he rolled them over, pinning her beneath him and cradling her face between both of his hands so that she was forced to stare up into his eyes. "Myrina, why do you think I visit you after all these years? Why would I call you here to sit at my side before my family?" Her eyes restlessly searched his, unfamiliar with this line of questioning. "You are not a trinket..."

"Why am I here?" she whispered with her heart suddenly thundering in her chest, realizing intuitively the significance of what he might say next.

His gaze softened, and his smile shifted to one of amusement at her ignorance. "Because I love you, you foolish girl!" he said and chuckled when he noted her shocked expression. He said the words so flippantly, but they had a potent impact, causing something to burst within her and flood her body with an all-consuming warmth. It came from deep inside her, deeper than blood, deeper than bones. An invisible hand gripped her heart, and she couldn't catch her breath while staring up at him. He watched her reaction unfold before his eyes and found her stupor entertaining. He bent down then to distract her with a passionate kiss and effectively awoke her from her numb surprise. Her arms wrapped around his neck to draw him closer, but he moved past her lips to kiss her cheek and neck while commenting playfully, "You are the only woman to take an invitation to the palace as an insult."

She laughed and lifted her head to kiss the unruly curls crowning his head, still drunk on her own happiness and fulfillment. He kissed her collarbones as well before nestling his cheek in the valley between her breasts. With his forearms on either side of her ribs, he still bore part of his weight but enough settled on top of her to restrict her breathing and crush her slightly into the padding of the bed. It was a welcome burden, and her arms fell to encircle his shoulders and keep him near. She stroked at his wild curls and smiled so broadly at the ceiling, her cheeks ached. Gradually more of his weight fell on her as his muscles eased, and she realized what this meant. "Do you plan to sleep on me, Prince?" she teased in a soft tone and drew her knuckles over his cheek, smoothing his beard down.

"Yes," he grumbled without hesitation, causing her to laugh. He shifted to rest his chin on her sternum and considered her from under his brow with amused eyes before he buried his face between her breasts and kissed the skin there a few times. She drew her fingernails lightly over his shoulders and down his arms without interrupting him, and the bristle of his beard scratching at her sensitive skin sent chills all over her. Finally he shifted forward to kiss her lips again and rolled off of her to stand from the bed. He walked about the room snuffing out the various flames as he went, and she pulled down the sheets, replaced his pillow at the head of the bed, and settled beneath the blue material to wait for him. Her cheeks warmed as she admired his naked body in the waning candlelight, and when the final flame was put out, only the milky glow of the moon illuminated the angles of his chest and arms, leaving the rest of him shrouded by darkness. She hoped the shadows would hide her ravenous eyes, but he did not acknowledge them as he slipped into the bed beside her. One arm encircled her waist and drew her back up against his chest. He draped her hair over the pillows so that he could nuzzle his face into the back of her neck, tickling her slightly with his beard. She folded her arm over his, tucking her fingers into his hand, while pressing herself even deeper into his arms until he nearly enveloped her entire body. He smiled against her neck and kissed her a few times for good measure before they relaxed against each other and slipped away.

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**Author's Note**: Hey gorgeous gals! Betcha weren't expecting that, right? haha For the record, I was going to have them do the deed in this chapter, but my friend suggested that Hector get some payback... I could not resist! It sounded like too much friggin fun, and hopefully it was naughty enough to satisfy you guys for the time being! :D

Thank you KawaiiHawaiian, AmyLNeslon, and Syrena Swift for the ultra sweet reviews as always! I was afraid you guys might abandon me after the long delay!

Kawaii: Hey dialogue junkie! Yea Hector's not really one for impulsive actions usually, but he kinda jumped on this idea... I think we're all grateful for that :) Clearly he is taking things with Myrina more seriously. He's kinda focused on her alone... but Andromache is still around the corner haha I'm going to be honest I've been playing around with the idea of bring Cassandra into play for a long time now just because she adds a really interesting spin on things with her curse. I haven't totally figured out what role she is going to take on in the future, but I'll probably keep her around. Thanks for the feedback lovely xoxo

Amy: Haha I'm so glad you liked Myrina's dress! I was being such a total girl, and I could not for the life of me decide how I wanted her dress to look. I swear I spent a full afternoon fastforwarding through Troy to look at Helen and Andromache's dresses for inspiration, but they just weren't what I was looking for. Then I started flipping through magazines, remembered how much I love Mila Kunis' style, and found that awesome dress to use as my inspiration. I'm glad my girly obsession with clothing played out in a good way haha I'm really sorry you had to wait so long for the update. Like I said, I had some unexpected company taking over my life during the past week, and I really couldn't concentrate on writing when I didn't have any time to myself! I'll try to be more timely in the future :) Hector and Myrina did not do it, but they had some fun for sure. Hopefully your perverted side enjoyed it all the same even though there was no penetration haha ;)

Syrena: You crack me up every time with your reviews! Andromache will be coming up unfortunately. There is quite a bit that has to happen in these next few chapters. They're kinda critical to the story, so that's all I can say right now. Hopefully it will not be anything you can anticipate, and you'll be in suspense to see what the heck is going to happen with these two! But for now, feel free to re-read this sex scene without penetration over and over again until the fully monty comes! :D Poor choice of words? I think not haha Thanks for the review, and I hope you liked this chapter! xoxo


	29. Like Waking from a Dream

Chapter 28  
"Like Waking from a Dream"

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Recommended Songs: "Monotov's Private Opera" – Third Eye Blind & "Maps" – Yeah Yeah Yeahs

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Hector walked brusquely through the palace corridors, returning from a brief discussion with Euryalus about the remaining military preparations to be made before their journey south to Cilicia. In the morning light, the cream colored stone of the palace walls nearly glimmered, and the murals painted along the halls came to life with the vibrancy of their colors shown at full force. A restless energy shifted within him as he drew nearer and nearer to his destination, but it was not an effect of his exotic surroundings or the lengthy list of responsibilities still requiring his attention that day. It all seemed insignificant in comparison to the young, naked woman still sleeping in his bed. She had barely stirred when he slipped away from her side earlier in the morning, and he took that as a sign of her indulgent abandon. It pleased him since he wanted her to feel sheltered and relaxed in his chambers… He wanted her to feel at home. When he finally reached the two large wooden doors leading to his quarters, his movements shifted to slow and cautious as he opened one door. He didn't wish to wake her and sought to make as little noise as possible though it was not quite so easily managed with the large bronze hinges latching the doors to the wall. He cringed each time they screeched or groaned even the slightest bit, and it seemed an eternity that he was stood coaxing the door open inch by inch. Once inside, he descended one step, leaned out toward the center of the room to peer around the black drapes surrounding his bed, and checked that she was still sound asleep. To his relief, she was lying on her stomach with the blue sheet haphazardly drawn about her waist, so low that he could faintly make out the dimples punctuating her lower back. One lithe leg hung out uncovered, and her hair was strewn about his pillows in an unruly mess of curls. He shut the door then, slipped off his sandals, and made his way to the foot of the bed, granting himself a better look at her. She was his guilty pleasure, and even in sleep, he felt drawn to her, wishing to bury himself beside her once more to feel the heat of her skin beneath the sheet and her soft body fitted perfectly against his own. Without hesitation, he began untying the front of his vest, but his gaze turned from his hands when he heard the sheets rustling and watched her clumsily roll onto her back, throwing one arm overhead. With the sheet still lowered on her body, her breasts remained uncovered, and he smiled licentiously, enjoying how the morning light illuminated her shamelessness in sleep. She displayed her body without the consciousness to care. The almost childish position amused him, and yet his gaze centered on her chest where her supple breasts tantalized him. The black material of his vest fell from his arms a moment later, and with his chestnut eyes still fixated on her sleeping figure, he edged around the stone frame, pushed back the black drapes, and sat beside her, careful not to disrupt the surface of the bed too much and wake her. She moaned softly in the back of her throat, a warning that he had been caught, and he grinned while drawing his fingers beneath her chin and back toward her ear.

The callused tips tickled her skin, and an enticing smile tugged at her lips as she caught his hand with her own and murmured, "Hector." Her voice was lowered and raspy with sleep, and she had yet to even open her eyes, hinting that she was still on the verge of dozing. But for all that, she reminded him of his appetite for her, and he bent to devour her lips in a heavy kiss. He was addicted to her taste and drew his tongue across her bottom lip to savor that velvety skin before it dipped within, deepening their kiss. Her response was gradual as the drowsiness wore off, and she could not imagine being awoken in a more pleasing manner. When he pulled away, she lifted her head from the pillow to chase after his lips, but he remained out of her reach. She surrendered easily enough, still too tired to follow him very far, and settled back on the bed to stretch from the crown of her head out through the tip of her toes in a very catlike fashion. It brought her breasts back into his line of sight as though they were asking for his attention, and he immediately shifted lower down her body to draw his lips over them. Both her hands cupped the back of his head, burying her fingers into his curls, and she sighed in pleasure and arched her back somewhat to encourage him. His teeth took hold of the hardened skin, and he nibbled lightly on it, almost teasing himself as much as he was her. A soft moan slipped past her lips, and with her head propped upon a pillow, she watched him savor her, simultaneously entranced by his skill and impatient for more. He forced himself away before he lost control. He would have to be content with that taste, but he couldn't wait much longer to have his fill of her.

"You are a siren," he grumbled in irritation and lay down on the bed beside her, propping himself up on an elbow.

"I've barely spoken a word," she challenged with a satisfied grin.

He smirked and brushed his lips across hers yet again, pausing to peer down into her eyes. "All the more dangerous." Her eyes shone mischievously beneath him, but she did no more, heeding his warning from the previous night. It both pleased and annoyed him. Some part of him wished she would push him to surrender to his desires, but his morals and respect for her guarded his more carnal needs with an iron grip.

"Where did you go?" she asked while modestly drawing the sheet further up her body to tuck beneath her arms and hide her bust from his sight.

It was just as well. He was having difficulty concentrating on anything else that morning. How ironic that a virgin reduced him to an awkward, overly stimulated teenage boy. 'The gods do have a sense of humor,' he mused briefly before answering, "I needed to speak with one of the generals. There's still much to be done."

"You will not leave soon…" she chanced, and the hopeful tone to her voice was unmistakable.

He smiled and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "I can't be sure, but I will be busy, Myrina."

So easily did he acknowledge the unspoken words as though he could read her thoughts: he would be too occupied to see her. "I understand… How long will you be gone?"

"Not long." He rolled onto his back and cupped his head with his hands. "A year. Perhaps two."

"That is not long?" she scoffed.

"I will call on you when I return as I always have."

She briefly considered what she would do in a year, let alone two, without him after learning of his feelings for her the night before. It would feel like an eternity, but she promised, "And I will be waiting." He shifted onto his side once more to see her, and she tentatively smiled at him when she noted the sober look on his face. Once more he had deciphered the unvoiced words, but he did not comment on it for the time.

There was a knock at the door, and he grimaced as he realized his duties had caught up with him and ruined their chances at a private morning together. He slipped off the bed and grabbed his vest from the floor, drawing it back up his arms to sit on his shoulders. He glanced back at the bed on his journey toward the door only to see Myrina had ducked beneath the sheet and out of sight. He grinned and restrained a chuckle. No one in the palace had any misconceptions about where she slept last night, and they undoubtedly had their own conclusions as to what the Prince and his mystery woman did under the cover of darkness. It amused him all the same, but he forced a more stern expression as he opened the door, prepared to face anything. Rather than a servant, there stood his younger brother Paris with a broad grin plastered across his face, and Hector frowned in annoyance at being interrupted by such a menace. "What is it?"

"Is she still here?" he asked curiously, attempting to peek around his older brother's burly frame.

Hector purposely blocked the room from his sight, and he asked dryly, "Don't you have some woman to chase after?"

Paris scowled at the jab. "I didn't mean to _interrupt_." The older prince remembered then that he had failed to tie his vest before opening the door which hinted at more inappropriate activities, but he still considered Paris with the same perturbed expression, unfazed by the comment. "I thought you would want to know that Aeneas just arrived. He's on his way here to see you no doubt."

Hector nearly growled in annoyance. He was always pleased to see his cousin, but on this occasion, it would force him to send Myrina home that much sooner. He couldn't risk Aeneas seeing her and recognizing her. He wasn't ready to reveal his relationship to his friend just yet and certainly not in this manner. A new concern crossed his mind, and he turned to his brother with a suspicious gaze. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Aeneas doesn't knock," he rejoined and grinned mischievously once more before slipping away without another word. It was true that Aeneas often disregarded common courtesy with his friends, and Hector was slightly surprised by his brother's consideration. It was to his benefit for once, and he quickly closed the door.

"You'll need to leave before Aeneas sees you," Hector called toward the bed as he padded out to the balcony and retrieved her crumpled gown from the night before. He didn't have the patience to wait for a servant to fetch her peasant clothes and tossed the gown onto the bed in front of Myrina who was seated with the blue sheet drawn about her. Instead of hopping out of bed to dress as he expected, she stared at the gown with a blank expression. "What is it?"

"I cannot return home in this," she protested softly.

"Why not?" She gnawed at her lip and attempted to find the proper words to explain how her father and brothers would react if they saw her in such a revealing dress. "There's no time," he said impatiently. "I'll have a servant bring you your old clothes at the palace gates."

She sighed in defeat and considered his expectant expression. "Do you plan to watch me?" He rolled his eyes and stepped outside to call on a servant who could prepare her things and gave her the privacy to slip into the dress. The material fell around her in the same way it had before, and she ran her hands over the wrinkles in the dress, trying to smooth it out. The gown was too beautiful to be cheapened by crumpled material, and Hector returned a moment later to see her. In the daylight, the dress lost the almost magical appeal it had the night before, but she still looked lovely in it, disheveled hair and wrinkled material aside. He smiled and approached her to drape the material around her slender body and clasped it at her left shoulder for her. She shifted the blue cloth further across her to cover the deep cut from sight and dreaded riding home in the delicate dress. It seemed like too much stress for the gossamer material, but she had no other option. Hopefully her father and brothers would be at sea, and she would be able to change before they returned that evening and saw her. She supposed she would slip the dress beside her shell necklace, two gifts from her prince that had no place in her meager life.

"Let's go," he said and took her elbow to guide her out of the room and down the hall, choosing a less known path where he doubted they would run into his cousin. He walked swiftly, taking long strides, and she was forced the gather the front of her dress in her hands and lift it slightly off the ground so that she didn't trip on it and stumble. She understood his haste since she also didn't want to face Aeneas, but she simultaneously was disheartened with how quickly she was being taken away. The previous night had been like a dream, and now she was literally being thrust back into her rightful place, back to her village and to her mundane chores. At the palace gates, her old white stallion was waiting along with a pack containing her clothes, and the same soldier from before was waiting to escort her home. Hector took a black cloth from another servant and offered it to her. It was a cloak since she had seemed apprehensive about riding home in the revealing dress. Despite the heat, she was grateful for the cover which could perhaps protect the lovely dress as well, and she draped it over her shoulders, clasping it at her neck.

The time had come so soon, but for once she was the one who had to ride away. Unlike Hector who always mounted his steed and galloped off without a second glance, Myrina hesitated before him, wishing to steal away their final moments. Likewise, he had never been forced to release her, and he quickly forgot the eyes watching them as he cupped her face in his hands, bent forward, and claimed her lips in a passionate kiss. Such public displays were frowned upon, but in that moment, he didn't give a thought to anything but her. Even as he pulled away, he kept his forehead firmly pressed against hers and peered into her eyes. "I will see you before I leave for Thebe," he swore in all sincerity. She nodded gently, and he reluctantly released her. With the complicated layers of material shrouding her legs, he helped her mount her horse and settle herself. She pulled up the hood of her cloak and gave him a half-hearted smile from beneath the shadow settling over her face. He nodded firmly in a final farewell and smacked the horse, sending them both out the gates and through the city. He watched her galloping between the buildings with a heavy sense of disappointment. He wished to call her back to him, but he held his tongue. One day he wouldn't let her go, but even as the thought passed through his mind, she glanced over her shoulder back at him only once. Her slender, cloaked outline smoldered against the white stone of his city, and the hood overshadowed her, masking her features from his gaze and granting him only a vague hint at the woman he sent away. In that second where time paused, the haunting realization settled heavily within him: she would never be his.

—

Myrina and Lysander reached the outskirts of her village by late afternoon, and she paused with the Trojan soldier to straighten her cloak and be sure she was unrecognizable. "Can you see me?" she asked while looking at him from beneath the hood. For some reason her heart was thundering in her chest. Perhaps it was the fear that her father and brother would be waiting for her inside their house. She didn't feel prepared to see them yet.

"No," he assured her for the umpteenth time along their journey, and she exhaled shakily as she turned to look out at her village from the plains stretching between Troy and her home. The ride back seemed so much shorter to her dismay, but she could ride forward. Returning to Troy was not an option. Lysander gave her a moment to gather her bearings before he asked, "Are you ready, my lady?"

"Yes," she lied all too swiftly, and they pressed onward, galloping through the center of her village until they reached her family's plot of land. She dismounted easily and scanned the front of the house for any movement inside that might betray the men's presences. When she was content with the still house, she considered the soldier a final time. "Thank you for your kindness and your help," she said earnestly, grateful that Hector had sent this escort for her instead of another. He was not condescending or arrogant toward her, and she appreciated that when she felt so lowly in comparison to the regal company she was called to join the night before. Lysander bowed his head slightly in a gesture that she didn't feel she deserved before galloping away and leaving her to face her fate. She had made her bed, and now she would be forced to lie in it –alone. She always felt much stronger with Hector, capable of facing the palace and dinner with the royal family, but now she could barely find the courage to pass through her own doorway. Instead, she guided the stallion away to give him water and food.

Suddenly, Isidora rushed out as quickly as her old bones would permit and called out, "Myrina!" The young woman faced her, and Isidora pulled her into a tight embrace as though she had been gone for months, not simply one night. She was grateful for that comfort all the same, but Isidora took her shoulders and said, "Go inside now before anyone takes notice of you. The women are all a flutter about your stay at the palace."

"How could they know?" she asked with a deep frown, never wishing to be the subject of their mean-spirited village gossip.

"They saw you riding out of the village with that soldier yesterday, and it certainly raised suspicions. Then Aeton..." Her wrinkled features fell, and she shook her head. "He made such a loud fuss when your father told him where you had gone. It's a wonder you didn't hear him all the way in Troy."

"He's angry with me? Is father upset? What of Alkaios?" Her tone turned desperate as she voiced the questions that had been tormenting her the entire ride home.

Isidora took the reigns but would not answer her. "Go inside, girl! There's bread on the table." Without another word, she guided the steed away, and Myrina was left to duck inside the home. She entered the kitchen and tore off a chunk of bread. She had not eaten before leaving Troy, and she hadn't realized before now how famished she was. Still, the nerves shifted around restlessly in her gut, and after only a few bites, she couldn't stomach anymore.

She removed the cloak from her shoulders and folded it in her arms only to hear another voice call through the home, "Myrina!" She immediately recognized the source and reluctantly faced the doorway where Korina soon appeared. The other woman's jaw fell, and her eyes swept over Myrina's body, taking in the luxurious material and gown she wore. "Myrina," she repeated in a softer tone and approached her slowly, "you look like a princess."

She laughed sheepishly and glanced down at the disheveled dress, uncomfortable with the look Korina gave her. "His sisters would scoff were they to see me in such a state."

"You met them?" she gasped with her chocolate eyes widening in surprise.

"Well… in a sense, yes."

Korina took her hands and held onto them tightly. "You must tell me everything. Don't spare a single detail."

"There's not much to tell," she said shyly. "The prince invited me to the palace, and I shared dinner with his family."

"You dined with the king!"

Again, Myrina shifted humbly and shrugged. "It was not so special."

"Oh Myrina… Will you marry him?"

The younger woman frowned and blushed at the forward question, barely remembering her prior lie in time to formulate an answer. No one knew how long they had truly known one another. "I doubt it," she finally decided. "Surely he will marry a princess. He only wished for my company…" She trailed off as she realized what that made her sound like.

"After so many years?" Korina pressed excitedly. "He would not present you before his family so casually. You must realize what this means!"

Myrina's attention, however, had been caught at the first question without taking into account what followed afterward. "Years?" she repeated uneasily with her heart clamoring inside her chest.

"I told her," Isidora explained from the doorway where she returned from attending to the horse, and Myrina blanched at the blunt admission.

"Yes, I know!" Korina gushed with a broad smile. "But don't fret. I would never tell a soul. You are a sister to me. I would not betray your trust." Myrina stared blankly at her, suddenly overwhelmed by this information. For years she had guarded Hector away, and now someone knew without her consent. She felt vulnerable and exposed and backed away from the two women until she felt the kitchen table hit her lower back. Korina advanced forward, but Myrina lifted her hands, wordlessly begging for some space to breathe and process this news. "Please don't be upset Myrina. I'm so happy for you!"

"Does Aeton…?" she wondered, unable to voice the unthinkable.

"No! No! I swear I have told no one."

She placed a hand over her racing heart, monitoring its pace through her skin, and gathered her waning strength. "Be honest with me… What did they say?" Both Korina and Isidora stared back at her with shifting expressions, clearly uncertain whether to be honest or to lie, or even where to start. Silent, tense minutes passed with Myrina turning from one woman to the next, and finally she blurted out, "Will you please tell me before I go mad!"

There was a familiar voice from outside the home, and all three women straightened in alarm, praying it was not what they thought until the voice drew closer and louder. "You may ask them yourself!" Isidora grumbled and stepped aside. "Go run to your room and change before they see you like this!" Myrina didn't need to be told twice and sprinted down the hallway to her room like a bolt of lightning. Isidora and Korina no doubt moved to distract the men before they called for Myrina who couldn't seem to unclasp the large, gold pin at her shoulder. Hearing their voices echo through the halls of the house, her anxiety increased tenfold, and she bent forward, slipping the dress with the draping still attached over her head. She quickly rolled it into a ball and it threw it beneath her bed. She then grabbed her normal garb, slipped on the dress which now seemed a bit scratchy in comparison to the other delicate fabric, and positioned her mother's pin in her hair. She could hear the sounds of the men talking inside the home, and she hesitated at her door, partially torn between hiding away and facing her fate.

"You ungrateful sack of wine!" Aeton's voice billowed down the hallway. Myrina flinched at the crude comment which she was sure was intended for her.

"Ungrateful?" Alkaios shouted back. "I'll make twice what I do now and be able to send a portion home for you all!"

"You don't think you're needed here with your family?"

"Aeton, Alkaios, stop!" Their father yelled out, but his call was ignored.

"I'm worth more gone than I am here… You're not angry that I'm leaving. You're angry that you didn't have the balls to do it when you were young."

By this time Myrina had crept through the hall to peer around the corner and watched the scene unfolding in their vestibule. Without warning, Aeton roughly grabbed Alkaios by the shirt and threw him against the wall. Alkaios retaliated with a swing to his brother's face, making contact with his cheek, but Aeton didn't stop. He pinned him there, stooping inches away from his face, and yelled, "I am the only one who cares about this family! I am the only one who has taken on that responsibility and don't you ever forget that!"

"Leave him alone!" Myrina cried out and pushed forward toward the pair.

Aeton's furious gaze slid away from his younger brother to her, and he released Alkaios if only to turn on Myrina who squared her shoulders to meet him. "And you! Running off with the prince behind your father's back!"

"Am I to ignore a call from the Crown Prince of Troy?" she countered audaciously, but on the inside she was trembling.

"What am I to do with you now?" he spat angrily. "Who would marry a prince's whore?"

"Aeton, don't speak that way to your sister!" their father rebuked loudly.

"Why not? Have you nothing to say to her? Should we all celebrate her return and pray she carries his bastard child within her?"

The old man's face darkened, and seeing that disappointment, Myrina felt the pressure of unshed tears pulsing behind her eyes. "I am not his whore… I love him."

"You can't understand love," Aeton growled out. "You're too selfish and too stupid to realize what love is. Shame us no longer, Myrina."

"What shame have I brought to this family? The prince called on _me_."

"And he will forget your name but a moment after it leaves his lips."

"No."

"No? You foolish girl! Now I will be forced to support our father, my wife and unborn child, and you once the prince has had his fill."

"I'm not his whore," she whispered again and felt the warm tears rolling down her cheeks, betraying the pain his words caused her.

"That lie may ease your own doubts, but everyone gathered beneath this roof sees the truth… You are a poor village girl. Why would he ever want you for more than a night?"

"A cat may look at a king," Korina interjected in her friend's defense.

Aeton easily ignored his wife, maintaing Myrina's gaze and seeing her subtly crack beneath it. "You have no place at his side." His eyes narrowed, and his shoulders rose and fell with his rapid, unmeasured breath. "I am only relieved our mother is not alive to see what you've become."

Without warning, Alkaios tackled Aeton to the floor, and the two men tumbled forward, nearly knocking Korina, their father, and Myrina over in the process. The latter three scrambled out the way of the brothers wrestling with each other. Alkaios was still on top and swung back to land a decent punch above Aeton's eye, splitting open his eyebrow in the process, but Aeton soon overcame his younger brother, rolling on top, and punched across the face again and again until their father finally pulled him off.

"Get out! Both of you!" the old man roared with such a force, the walls nearly quaked.

Aeton was breathing heavily and backed away toward the door with the cut above his eye bleeding down his face. His voice cracked as he pressed, "I am the one who takes care of this family. Remember this moment. Remember how you both spat on me…" He clumsily swiped at the blood trickling down from his eye and set off back home. Only a moment later, Korina followed after him while wiping at her own tears. Isidora and their father turned to face Myrina, but the young woman had disappeared from the entryway.

She stumbled somewhere between walking and running toward the barren courtyard with the lone stone bench sitting out in the late afternoon light. She easily crumbled down onto it, wrapping her arms around herself, and bending forward to rock against the tightening inside her. With one turn of events, her sweet, young love had turned sour, and she felt sick from ingesting it so completely and believing in it so fully. Had it all been a dream? Had she been played for a fool and blinded by her own fantasy? The grass rustled nearby, and she straightened in alarm to see Alkaios approaching. One side of his face was beginning to swell from the blows it had taken, but he was more focused on his younger sister and her tearstained face. He settled down beside her and wrapped an arm around her narrow shoulders in a comforting manner that he never had before. "He had no right to say that to you."

"Yes, he did." She swallowed heavily and shook her head. "I never wanted this. I never asked for this." She took a deep breath and considered her brother through teary eyes. "Do you think I'm his whore?"

"No." He rubbed her shoulder to bolster his answer. "He is the crown prince. You could not disobey his call."

"But we didn't-" The words caught in throat as she remembered who she was speaking with, but it was so difficult not to point out that her virtue was still in tact despite what gossip might say.

Alkaios shifted uneasily, not wanting to hear about that aspect of his younger sister's life, and decided, "He was angry with me. He shouldn't have taken his frustration out on you."

"Why were you fighting?"

"Because when Troy's army marches south, I will go with them."

Her expression widened in utter shock, and she sputtered, "Why?"

"I cannot face another day within the confines of this village... I don't want to become a fisherman." His agitation was evident in his tone, and he pressed on, "Do you know how frustrating it is to live the same day over and over again and to know that this is the rest of your life? That there is nothing else to be expected?"

"Yes," she admitted gently, but she more stunned that her feelings were shared with someone else -with Alkaios no other!

"It will be better for the family," he said, more to himself than to Myrina. "I will send money... And when I return, I'll bring the family honor."

She smiled at his profile which was so stern and somber as he said the words. She had never noticed before how he had matured from the brother who had once hidden a crab in her bed to this man unafraid to face the world and set himself apart. "What will I do without you?" He turned to look at her, and she laughed slightly. "I'll have no one to speak with but Isidora and father."

He mirrored her smile, and his eyes shifted across her face before he wondered, "Do you still remember mother?"

"Only bits and pieces of memories... but every year I recall less of her. I can't remember the sound of her voice anymore."

"You favor her so much," he admitted. "Sometimes I can almost see her staring out through your eyes."

An unhindered smile tugged at her lips, and she felt the tears pricking her eyes once more. "Really?"

He nodded and looked away, uncomfortable with the emotional exchange. "Don't let Aeton bully you while I'm gone... You're stronger than you think. Don't forget that."

"I won't," she promised and impulsively bent forward to kiss her brother's cheek. "I'll miss you."

He smiled and stood from the bench. "You will?"

"Yes," she said with a soft laugh.

"Then you'll make your barley soup before I leave?"

"Why? You always said you hated it."

He grinned and sheepishly scratched the back of his head. "I feared you would become arrogant if you knew how much I enjoyed it."

"You liar!" she accused, but she was absolutely beaming to know his aversion to her cooking had all been a hoax.

"What will you do about it? Call one of your prince's guards on me?" he teased.

"Soldier of Troy or not, I can still whip you," she warned with a devious grin.

"You would have to actually catch me first." Within a second, they bolted off to the field behind their village with Alkaios in the lead and Myrina steadily gaining on him. As they sprinted through the tall grass with the sun setting across the sky overhead, they oddly found some level of deeper acceptance in resurrecting their childhood game, and the weight of the day was soon abandoned.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hey lovies! Aeton was a major douche face in this chapter, but he is actually a good guy. He's just worried the family is crumbling around him and feels like he's the only one trying to hold it together. He'll take the stick out of his arse later :) I'll be eager to see how you all react to the next chapter. I'm not sure if it's what you're expecting or not!

Thanks to AmyLNelson, Syrena Swift, and KawaiiHawaiian for the super sweet reviews! Lots of love for you ladies :D

Amy: Yay! Hector did in fact tell her he loved her, but I felt like it had to be in this amused way -like 'are you kidding me? why the heck do you think I want you here, you retard!' I guess he could have been all lovey dovey 'you + me = us' haha but I wanted to keep things lighthearted after their uh... teenage wet dream session ;) Hopefully you liked this chapter and thanks again for the review, gorgeous! xoxo

Syrena: OMG! I laughed so hard at the YouTube link! Jesus Christ... That was epic. Thanks for that :) YEAAHHHHHHH. I'm glad you enjoyed their naughty scene. I actually had a good friend of mine read through it and give me feedback before I posted it cause I was kinda nervous about going that far with it BUT I'm glad to see you appreciated it :D Andromache is still on the horizon. You'll learn more about that in the next chapter... sweating yet? Hope you enjoyed this chapter :D

Kawaii: Hey dialogue junkie! A nose bleed? I hope not haha Those would not be pleasant! They found some understanding and reciprocation of feelings and now in this chapter they're all over the map again haha So sorry for that! As far as Andromache goes, I'm going to be honest, I haven't really decided how I'm going to make her behave yet. I actually don't want her to be some heinous bitch because I don't see her that way. You know I think that she's really going to be Hector's equal in way, but that's all going to play out very soon :) Hope you liked this chapter as well xoxo


	30. Nothing Left to Lose

Chapter 29  
"Nothing Left To Lose"

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Recommended Songs: "Pyro" – Kings of Leon & "Hero" – Regina Spektor

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The dining hall of the Trojan palace echoed from the revelry within. Large, blazing torches settled between the stone columns to illuminate the interior, and servants moved along the rectangular tables, filling cups to the brim with wine as they passed. All were in good spirits with the upcoming departure south to Cilicia, and they welcomed the last of Eetion's diplomats to celebrate with them. Podes, a Prince of Thebe, was among the men sitting at the table, and since his arrival over a week earlier, he and Hector had swiftly become comrades. Podes was only two or three years older than Hector, and he had a light-hearted nature and innate humility that came with being the youngest of Eetion's seven sons. Since his older brothers were busy protecting the borders and preparing for the Trojan army's arrival in Thebe, Podes had been sent to discuss the final aspects of Troy's involvement and to journey with the army back to his homeland. Aeneas was also in attendance on this evening, wishing spend time with his cousin before Hector left Troy. Dardania's forces would not join the army on this occasion –which had admittedly disappointed the demi-god, and he made a point to constantly remind Hector and Priam that he could be called upon at any time and would ride south without hesitation. Likewise, many generals and councilmen had joined them, so much so that another table entirely was forced to be drawn into the hall to seat everyone, and after several cups of wine, the older men reminisced of battles passed or memories from long ago.

The three princes were grouped together at the end of one table, lost in their own conversation and enjoying a more lively exchange of wits. Aeneas dropped his empty cup onto the wooden surface with a loud clang and wiped the excess wine from the corners of his mouth with the back of his forearm. "Can Troy offer no entertainment?" he asked drearily.

"You do not enjoy the musicians?" Podes asked.

"They're well I suppose, but a few dancing beauties would be more appreciated… I'm sure you have them at your disposal."

"Does our company bore you, cousin?" Hector wondered with a grin.

"I have nothing poor to say of him," he rejoined while directing his empty cup toward Podes, "but I am disappointed with your sobriety. You'll leave for war in a few days. Enjoy the excess while you can."

"War never stopped you from drinking yourself into a stupor or finding company each night."

"My mother is Aphrodite," he shot back and smirked. "I have a reputation to uphold."

"I daresay your reputation has reached Thebe," Podes commented.

This amused the Dardanian prince who leaned across the table and asked, "What do they say of me?"

"That you are as likely a son of the Goddess Aphrodite as that of Dionysus." Aeneas grinned ironically as a servant reached across him to fill his cup. "That you sleep with the sun and wake with the moon … and that there is no woman in Troad who has not fallen under your charm."

"All lies!" he declared loudly before adding, "Aside from the last bit." The men laughed heartily, and Aeneas raised his cup to his own wit. After drawing a long sip, he admitted, "I have heard nothing of your character."

"I would rather there be no talk than false reports," he quickly retorted, sensing an underlying barb.

"Aeneas lacks principles with regard to gossip and women. He finds any sort acceptable," Hector explained jovially toward the Theban prince.

"And my dear cousin unfortunately lacks the ability to engage either one," Aeneas quipped while slipping an arm around Hector's shoulders to agitate him further. The latter easily shrugged him off with a laugh and shook his head as he raised his cup to his lips.

"You'll find both in Thebe," Podes assured Hector with an amicable pat on his shoulder. "Which reminds me…" He stood from his seat, leaving Hector with a quizzical expression at his cryptic words. Podes called all the attention at the table and declared loudly through the hall, "I've failed to acknowledge sooner my gratitude to the great King Priam for his graciousness. I'm afraid I was distracted by his hospitality." The men chuckled, and Podes grinned broadly with his attention still centered on the king. "Long ago Laomedon of Troy and Cypselus of Thebe formed an alliance to conquer the powers threatening our borders from the east. It has been decades since we were joined in war, but still their descendents uphold that bond and face the Hittite army snarling at our gates. I am honored to name Troy among Thebe's allies and to march south with your army to protect my home. With Troy's fierce soldiers, we cannot fail!" The men at the table clapped appreciatively and called out their approval. Podes waited for them to quiet further before he continued, "And once this war is won, our bond will extend beyond a military pact… I am privileged to soon call Prince Hector my brother." The Trojan prince's smile fell as he met Podes' gaze and felt the impact of his words resonate deep within him. "There is not a worthier man to take my sister's hand." It hit him with the cold weight of a thousand bricks, and his attention slid from Podes to his father seated at the head of the table. Priam stared back without a trace of emotion, and in that brief second, his worst fears were confirmed.

The numb shock faded easily, overwhelmed by his vicious rage, and he abruptly stood from the table and stormed out of the hall, interrupting the remainder of Podes' speech. The latter looked confused and put off by his exit, but Aeneas sobered up quickly and covered, "Forgive him. The wine has gotten the better of him." He had noted the expression on his cousin's face before Hector broke away, and the alcohol easily lost its effect on him as he realized what it meant. He stared after Hector for a brief moment before continuing to engage the members assembled at the table, trying to make them forget about Hector's absence with his wit and inappropriate humor.

The Trojan prince tore through the palace corridors, a typhoon of sheer fury that would shame even Ares. The blood racing beneath his skin boiled with his fiery wrath, and without warning, he grabbed one of the vases lining the hallway and threw it against the wall, watching its beauty shatter and fall in a thousand pieces onto the ground. It was not nearly enough to satisfy his chaotic temper, and his eyes searched for something else to unleash his anger upon.

"Hector!" He spun on his heel face his father who was scowling deeply at his eldest son. Priam had caused this mess, and he would pay for it. "You will compose yourself and return to the hall at once!"

"You betrayed my trust and arranged this behind my very back!" Hector bellowed and advanced on his father now that he had a target to focus on.

"I have no need to consult you about matters of state."

"My marriage is a matter of state?" he growled out and paused barely a foot away from his father. His hands clenched and released at his sides, and his eyes pierced through the king like daggers.

"You are the crown prince. Your wife will be queen of Troy and rule beside you. You must be matched appropriately," Priam answered calmly.

"And I cannot be trusted to choose my own wife?"

"There was a time that I would have thought you would choose wisely… but after that peasant girl you brought here, I see how I was mistaken."

"I warn you, old man, do not speak a word against her!" he barked suddenly and began pacing from side to side, unable to fight back the overwhelming violence seeping through his skin.

Priam's eyes narrowed at the threat, but he would never bow to his son. "I thought you were too old to toy with village girls. It is behavior fitting of your cousin." Hector visibly shuddered with rage and glared fiercely at his father, wishing more than anything to rip him apart with his bare hands. "I prayed to Zeus that you would not force me into this position… But even he cannot rid you of your stubbornness." Hector's arm flinched, but he was distracted by the sight of his mother advancing down the hallway toward them. Oblivious, Priam continued, "If you must, take her for a mistress. This infatuation will run its course. Rid yourself of it now before it poisons our lives further."

The comment drew his attention back to his father, and he could no longer hold his tongue. Without hesitation, he swore, "When I return from war, I will marry her."

"You would have the daughter of a poor fisherman one day rule Troy at your side?" Priam scoffed in disbelief.

"I would take her over a thousand witless princesses! I trust her guidance and judgment more than any man's. You have judged her due to her status before even examining her mind or her heart."

"She has no knowledge of court life, of politics, of war. Would you risk the future of your country for this girl? For your selfishness?"

"Is it selfish to love?" he growled back angrily. "You turn a blind eye while Paris woos whomever he pleases whether it is the daughter of a fisherman or another man's wife, yet I cannot marry the woman I love?"

"The love you speak of is a fantasy brought on by poor judgment." The king frowned severely and spat, "I have evidently failed as a father to have raised a son so relaxed in his moral conduct."

Sensing a climax in their growing tension after her husband's words, Hecuba intervened before the prince could respond and said, "Hector, you were born to privilege, and with that comes obligations."

Priam agreed, "If you are to become king, you must accept your responsibilities."

The insinuation that Hector shucked his duties was a slap in his face. "I have led our men to victory countless times in battle. I have granted you my advice in matters of the court. I have proven myself to be loyal to Troy and to you, father. Why do you not trust me on this matter? Why can you not grant me this one wish?"

"Because you will be king one day!" he exclaimed. "Love is not a luxury we can afford, Hector. Your marriage to the Princess of Thebe will provide a fruitful alliance for Troy."

"Must I give everything to Troy?"

Priam's eyes steadied on his son's face. "Yes."

He bowed his head momentarily as the weight of his father's words hung across his shoulders. Was he selfish to love a peasant girl and wish to make her his wife? Even in his current state, Priam had pierced through his blind rage and planted the seed of doubt in his mind. Still, his stubbornness ruled above everything else. He exhaled hotly through his nose and lifted his gaze to meet his father's ice blue eyes. "I won't give her up… not for Troy and not for you." With that, he turned and walked away.

"You will obey my command, or there will be hell to pay!" Priam shouted after him.

Hector would have laughed were he not so infuriated, and he paused to glance back at the king. "What will you do, father? Give the crown to Paris to rule in your stead?" Priam was astonished by the audacity of his son's words, but Hector didn't give him time enough to respond. Soon he turned the corner and left the King and Queen of Troy alone in the corridor.

"Hector!" Hecuba called out, fearing that on some level they had lost him.

Priam gradually regained his wits and grumbled, "He's your son."

She refrained from rolling her eyes and instead said calmly, "Priam… he loves her."

"He's too young to understand what love is." It was clear where Hector had inherited his stubborn nature from.

Hecuba softened as she consider her husband's profile. "We both know a marriage among two strangers never brought anyone in this palace happiness." She was referring to Priam's first marriage to Arisbe which had been arranged when he was a young man. He had been miserable with his match and had swiftly divorced Arisbe when he met and fell in love with Hecuba, his true mate in life.

Priam recognized the reference, but he wouldn't surrender so easily. His decision had been made, and it would be final. He reasoned, "I cannot allow this weakness to undermine him… Powers to the west and east of Troy grow more forceful each day. Hector must be stronger if Troy will survive."

"He is strong enough to face the King with conviction and courage-"

"He is bullheaded," he corrected.

She smiled partially and suggested, "He is _determined_ –like his father." She sighed then, dismayed by their constant quarrelling. "But a sapling cannot grow in the shade of a mountain. You have raised an honorable son… Now you must stand aside and let him step out of your shadow."

Her wise words silenced him for the time being, but when he realized their effect, he fought to maintain his will. "He needs a good lashing."

"He needs guidance. I will speak with him before you leave for Thebe."

"Very well. But be warned, woman, not even the will of the gods could persuade him. He'll strike at me in any way he can. It is only a matter of time."

* * *

Ever since the fight a fortnight ago, tensions had remained high within the home. Aeton had yet to apologize to Myrina or Alkaios for his caustic words, but the three men still went to sea each morning. Alkaios reasoned that he would work as hard as he could while they still had his strength around to help even if it meant ignoring Aeton aboard the boat. Naturally Myrina was saddened by this prospect as though she had some hand in unraveling their once tight-knit family. Now Alkaios would journey to war, Aeton would not speak with her, her father could not look at her without sadness in his eyes, and she was having difficulty shouldering it all. In the morning and afternoon when the men left for sea, she was able to breath for a time, and to her surprise, Isidora had softened from her normally abrasive personality. Myrina had expected her to be as judgmental and distressed as she normally was; but by some grace, her motherly instincts had returned, and she treated Myrina with a mildness that gave her peace. Through it all, she needed that comfort of knowing that someone loved and accepted her unconditionally. It steadied her when she felt like her world was spinning out control around her.

She wiped at the sweat on her brow and sat back on her heels to consider the small patch of wet stone which she had scrubbed moments earlier. It seemed so meager in comparison to the rest of the surface that she needed to cover, and her resolve in her chore failed for the moment. She dropped the brush into the pail of soapy water and placed her hands on her lower back to massage at the tense muscles. Her attention shifted to her hands, and she brought them back into her line of sight, examining their state with a critical eye. They were small with short fingers, and her palms sported a few hardened calluses from years spent attending to chores. It was such an insignificant thing to note, but she had studied Cassandra's hands at dinner. She thought it was lovely how the lithe fingers cradled her cup of wine, and how her nails had grown long without chores to break them off. They were spotless like she had never touched a patch of dirt in her life.

"Myrina!" Isidora called down the hall, interrupting the young woman's thoughts. "It is time!" Myrina sighed beneath her breath and pushed herself back onto her feet while silently acknowledging that she was not the manner of woman as Cassandra. She peeled away the damp layer of her dress from her knees and met the rest of her family outside. She had been trying to distract herself from this moment, but there was nothing she could do to stop it from happening. Alkaios dug his heels in on this matter and would travel to Troy and march with the army in the morning.

He adjusted his pack on their old stallion and affectionately patted at their horse's neck before turning to face the line of people waiting to bid him a safe journey. Already he looked so much older to Myrina where he stood proudly beside their old stallion. His clear blue eyes scanned their faces, and he approached his father first. Diokles embraced him tightly before taking his shoulders and looking his son in the eye. "I don't know what I did to raise such a good man… but always remember your family. Keep your wits about you."

"I'll bring you honor," Alkaios promised.

"You already have." He smiled and patted his son on the shoulder, and Alkaios turned to Aeton.

His older brother shifted uneasily and said, "If this is what you must do, then I will support your decision."

"Look after them while I'm gone."

"I will."

Korina smiled from her husband's side and placed a hand on her rounded abdomen. "Return uninjured. He'll want to meet his uncle."

"I will see him. I swear it."

Isidora was next, and the old woman fought back tears as she chided, "Now don't run out there and try to make a name for yourself! You have a family waiting for you. We'll expect you to return in one piece."

Alkaios smirked and promised, "I will be safe, but I will also do my duty."

Finally, he faced Myrina and stepped closer to his little sister to draw her into a firm embrace. "I will miss you most of all," he admitted in a whisper near her ear. She laughed softly, feeling the tears prick at her eyes, and she held onto him even tighter. "I'll keep an eye on the prince for you."

She released him so that she could take his face and tell him, "The only person you should look out for is yourself." She dropped her hands and bit back the tears awhile longer. No matter how many times she had said goodbye to her loved ones over the course of her life, it never got any easier to do. "You will return home with your life, or I will travel to Hades, bargain for your soul, and kill you again myself."

Alkaios chuckled and teased, "I would prefer a Hittite's blade over your wrath."

"A wise choice," she agreed and felt the first tear fall down her cheek, betraying her sadness despite the weak smile on her face.

Alkaios stepped away then and mounted the horse in one fluid motion. A neighbor was riding to Troy on business and had agreed to return their horse to them since Alkaios could not. He looked at his family one last time before the pair rode out of the village. At the outskirts, he turned and waved at his loved ones in a final farewell.

"Safe journey," Myrina said after him.

"Safe journey," the others agreed, and after his outline faded into the distance, they slowly made their way back within the confines of their house to finish their chores for the day. Myrina was the last to enter: her pace was slowed by her heavy heart. Tomorrow the army would march to Thebe, but Hector had not come to see her as he had promised.

* * *

Evening was creeping over the palace of Troy, and servants gathered in the halls to light the torches. Hector had returned from a ride around the plains and now strode toward his room. Random curls clung to his forehead and temples, and he was slightly out of breath, hinting at how swiftly he had ridden. His athletic shoulders were bare of his usual cloak, and there was something savage and reckless in his chestnut eyes. It had almost become a ritual in the days since his engagement to Andromache had been revealed. Each time he left with the purpose of seeing Myrina. He needed her to soothe his wounds, to calm the tempest within him, but he feared how she would react to such ill news. Beyond that, he wasn't sure he could face what he would lose when he journeyed to Thebe. It was a cost he could not afford. Despair and confusion were not emotions he was accustomed to feeling, and he couldn't find any means to rid himself of their power over him. They left him anxious throughout the day, drove sleep away from him at night, and kept his body in a constant state of turmoil. It was swiftly driving him mad, and their departure for Thebe in the morning was not helping matters.

"Hector!" his mother's voice rung out from behind him, but he didn't spare a second to even glance back at her.

"Not now, mother," he said irritably and quickened his pace toward his chambers.

"Yes, now!" she demanded in a tone that made him cringe despite himself. "We won't have another chance before you leave."

He turned finally and faced her. "Do you wish to lecture me further about my responsibilities?"

She caught up to him and scowled up at him for his sharp tongue. The look in her eyes made him turn away, reminding him too much of how she appeared when she chided him as a boy. "Hector, I realize it is difficult to accept this betrothal, and your father should have informed you of his decision… But surely you knew this day would come."

His jaw clenched subtly if only because it was true. He had always expected to be engaged to a princess, and there was a time when he would not have reacted so hotly by such news. But everything had changed. Myrina was all he could see. "It should be my choice who I take for my wife."

"This struggle between you and your father is not about the betrothal." She stared up at her son, and he granted her a dubious glance, not following her line of reasoning. "You are upset because he won't acknowledge your feelings for… that girl."

"I have dedicated my life to Troy and to bringing him honor." He swallowed heavily. "But no matter what I do, it is never enough. He doesn't want a son. He wants a servant."

"That's not true. He loves you. He only wants what is best for you."

"And how could he decide that she is not my match? He did not say one word to her at dinner. He did not ask me a single question about her."

"What did you expect of him? To take her hand and kiss her head and welcome her with open arms?" Hecuba took a breath and explained, "This is his legacy, Hector. He feels that he must protect each member and be cautious about who is brought into this family."

"He wasted no haste in promising me to a complete stranger."

"The princess has a spotless reputation. They speak of her modesty and beauty, and her weaving."

"And these are the qualities that a queen of Troy will need? An ability to weave and beauty?"

"They are the characteristics of a proper young woman who will make a fine wife."

"And I am selfish to wish for something more than that."

"Not selfish. You're young-"

"Don't treat me like a child," he warned swiftly.

Hecuba attempted to regroup and tried a different approach, "Heavy is the head that wears the crown, Hector. You will have many decisions in life that will not be easy for you to make, but they are the choices that will determine your future and follow you long after the end of your days."

Hector's gaze steadied on her, and he countered, "Father agreed to an arranged marriage when he was young, yet he left his wife for you. Tell me, mother, which of those decisions was the wiser one."

It was the same logic Hecuba had used on Priam days ago, and she found herself softening before her son, abandoning for the moment her prior conviction to persuade him into this marriage. "You truly love her?"

"She is my match," he answered with an unwavering gaze.

"Your father will not call off this engagement."

"I know."

"What will you do then?"

Hector bowed his head slightly since it was the question that had been lingering in his mind, unanswered and ever prominent. Finally, he admitted with defeat in his voice, "I don't know… I don't know what is right and what is wrong anymore."

She drew in a steadying breath, reading the distress in the lines of her son's face. The dark circles beneath his eyes betrayed his lack of sleep, and she realized how much this matter had consumed him. He looked like a haunted house in the daylight: barren though possessed by some pernicious energy. Gently, she offered, "Sometimes fear is the heart of love."

Hector's brow furrowed as he deciphered the cryptic words. "You think I should marry the princess."

His mother shifted her weight over one foot and explained, "If you journey to Thebe and return with a wife, you will bring your family and your country honor. You will love her and be content for a time… But you will never find lasting peace. The memory of this young love will burn with you until you take your last breath."

The simple words immediately reminded Hector of a prophecy he had received as a young man: 'The only peace you will find is in death… You will follow your mind and not your heart.' Suddenly each woman represented a different path in his life, one to fulfillment and one that would leave him unsatisfied. The weight of the situation increased tenfold, and he felt slightly suffocated by this revelation. It left him disoriented until he couldn't be certain which path Myrina would lead him down. He loved her, didn't he? Or was love meant to serve a greater purpose like choosing a better woman to rule Troy at his side one day? He had heard that there was no room for selfishness in love, and did that mean his affection for Myrina was nothing more than a young infatuation? He frowned more deeply, only further confused by his mother's advice rather than finding any clarification of his thoughts.

In the morning, he rode out of the city with the same dark spirit radiating off of him. The breeze pushed his curls across his face, shadowing his eyes, but they burned with his need for peace. The morning rays reflected off his bronze chest plate, shin guards, and fenders at his wrists, but he wavered beneath the light, shifting like the thoughts weighing over him. Once they were a distance away, he looked back over his shoulder a final time to see his beloved city. Behind those walls, they talked like lions but sacrificed like lambs.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Hey my gorgeous gals! Your worst nightmare, right? Andromache will soon appear! In mythology, Hector and Podes are supposed to be good buddies, so that's why I made it Podes who will be travelling with them. Not to mention his name cracks me up for some reason (I'm easily amused). In these next few chapters, I'm going to have to fast forward through time in some places, but I'll be sure to give you guys an indication as to how much time has passed. Hopefully you won't mind me picking up the pace more, but I kinda want things to start happening more quickly :)

Thank you to AmyLNelson and Syrena Swift for the lovely reviews!

Amy: Your psychic abilities have returned! Yay :D Paris will meet Myrina at some point I suppose... I'd imagine that they'd get along if only because Paris is a charmer, and I kinda see him intrigued with her simply because Hector likes her. Andromache will not be an evil bitch, I promise! I think she's actually going to kinda be the female version of Hector on some level if that makes sense... Really loves her country and city, she's really loyal, she's smart, etc. She's going to be likable for sure -which will only confuse our dear Hector even more haha Aeneas is going to appear again in the next chapter, and I doubt you have any friggin clue what he is going to do! If you can guess, I'll be in complete awe of your psychic powers haha I might have Alkaios and Hector cross paths while at war... That's not a bad idea. Obviously Hector wouldn't know who he is, and Alkaios would just kinda be curious to see the guy that his sister's in love with :) But could be fun! Thanks for the review, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter xoxo

Syrena: Yea Aeton was a captain of douchery in the last chapter, but he's such a conservative retard that I couldn't see him being ok with Myrina spending a night with Hector... even though ya know he got his wife knocked up before they were married. He's a little conservative hypocrite, but in his own way, it's because he loves his family. He just doesn't express it very well haha How long Hector will be gone at war is still up for debate. I was going to make it a bit long because I have a lot of time to cover in this story, and I wanted him to grow up fast. So we shall see how it all plays out! Like I said, I have _a lot_ to cover in these next few chapters -like literally it's going to be one thing after another, so at least you'll have that to look forward to haha Hopefully you'll like what's going to happen in the next chapter :D I've been planning this whole plot line forever, so I'm excited to see it all coming together! Thanks for the review :) Hope you liked this chapter as well xoxo


	31. To Return A Favor

Chapter 30  
"To Return A Favor"

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Recommended Songs: "Oil and Water" – Incubus & "Find Your Love" – Drake

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Though it had been nearly a month since Troy led several contingents south to fight off the mob which had infiltrated her borders, signs of upheaval were still evident in the northern lands. As Hector had warned Aeneas, it seemed that a handful had broken away from the main group and taken a different route, keeping east to skirt around Mount Ida. They had by passed the capital all together and sprung up north of Dardania in villages surrounding Arisbe and Abydos. Alcathous had immediately informed his new brother-in-law of the situation since Dardania often acted as a guard of the territories north of Troy in Troad. Several villages had been sacked, wheat torn from the fields, chickens stolen, and some villagers injured for attempting to fight off the foreigners. Since his cousin did not require his aid in Cilicia, Aeneas was grateful for the little unease if only because it distracted him from his boredom. Thus for the past two weeks he had gathered a group of his most skilled soldiers and was hunting down the mob. The difficulty was that they were dressed like villagers and often blended in with the Trojans. Also they had a knack for hiding, and even with a seasoned scout in his detachment, they always seemed to be one step behind.

It was wearing on his patience, but that morning the foreigners had made a fatal error: black smoke from a fire had caught the Dardanians' attentions, and now they had the men on the run. Aeneas hoped to direct them toward Troy where the king's guards could help capture them, but instead the group headed toward the Aegean, no doubt looking for the nearest village to seek refuge in. Aeneas knew precisely which one they would encounter first. His heels dug into the sides of his black steed, pushing his horse on even swifter and leading his men in the direction of the village perched on the edge of the sea that had taken him in so long ago. For that reason, he felt more sympathy toward the villagers and hoped to reach them before the mob could cause any trouble. Smoke in the distance warned that they were too late, and as the Dardanians drew closer, they could make out villagers fleeing for Troy whether on horseback or on foot. Some dirty and ravaged men scattered throughout the village and ran when they saw the Dardanian party approaching. Aeneas had no intention of letting them away this time.

"No mercy!" he yelled out to his men, and they were swift with their blades, cutting down any man who rose to defy them. The skirmish was short-lived. The foreigners' scythes and make shift weapons were no match for the Dardanians' bronze blades and training as soldiers. When the men in the square were executed, their thick blood quenching the dry soil of the Trojan plains, he dismounted his horse and commanded, "Check the houses!" Without hesitation, his men scattered to obey his order.

"My lord!" one of them called out and motioned toward three men sprinting off along the coast.

"Acmon and Lares," he said and pointed in the direction of the men, "take care of them. No survivors!" The two soldiers mounted their steeds once more and set off to be sure no man was left untended. Aeneas watched them ride off toward the Aegean before turning to consider the house that had sheltered him when he was injured. He remembered that the lady of the home had been with child, and he followed one of his men inside to see what had become of her. They parted to search each room, checking under beds, behind doors, and in any areas where a man could take refuge. They were thorough and meticulous in their search, but there was no one to be found in this home. Aeneas decided the group of foreigners must have been smaller than they had originally guessed. It would explain why they slipped through the lands so easily. Fewer numbers left a smaller impact on the surrounding land and were thus harder to track. Still, he was relieved to be rid of these pests. It was only a matter of time before their radical ideas spurred an infestation, and he had no intention of allowing such a thing to poison their lands -especially while his cousin was away. Hector had always been first before him because of his status, and now he felt more important without his cousin to overshadow him. He had to rise to the occasion and handle matters, and though he had a reputation for being irreverent, uncontrollable, and reckless, truthfully he was dutiful and conscious. That side of him, however, was not interesting enough to be the subject of gossip. Perhaps Aeneas' greatest fault was not his philandering or his revelry but how little he cared for gossip. Unlike Hector, he didn't spend his life second-guessing his actions and restraining himself to be sure he maintained his perfect reputation. Aeneas never restricted his actions to curry favor with the public eye.

He sheathed his sword as he returned outside to the village square and allowed his blue eyes to sweep across the space, taking stock of the fallen men and his own soldiers. When he heard loud wails and cries, his attention turned toward one house where two of his men were pulling out an old foreigner. One held him in place kneeling on the ground while the other lifted his bronze blade to cut him down, but Aeneas suddenly called out, "Stop!" Each man in the square ceased whatever they were doing to see who the prince was addressing, but his gaze was settled on the trio alone. The old man stared up at him with fearful eyes from beneath his bushy white eyebrows, realizing this striking prince held the key to his life and could call on Death to take him at a moment's notice. Aeneas scratched his head thoughtfully and furrowed his brow as he considered the man. He seemed as though he were contemplating something as trivial as what he might take for a meal rather than whether on not to spare a man's life. "We'll take him with us," he decided abruptly. "He may be of use later." The soldiers consented and held onto their captive, dragging him toward the horses to find rope to bind him. The old man still lamented painfully since the soldiers were not gentle with their cargo, and he knew that capture was often a worse fate than death.

Oblivious, Aeneas turned to look back across the space and noted Avernus approaching him with an unexpected burden. In his arms, he gently cradled the limp form of a young woman. The prince's interest piqued since the soldier's path was directed toward him, and he could only guess why one of his most trusted men brought him such a prize. As Avernus approached, he explained, "My lord, I found her in one of the houses. She still breathes." Her long, dusky curls had fallen across her face to hide her defining features from his sight, and the languid nature of her form suggested she had been knocked unconscious. He carefully pushed the hair aside to satisfy his curiosity, and when his gaze settled on her face, his eyes widened in shock. It was only for a brief second, and then he smiled mischievously. 'You've brought me to her again,' he thought to himself and chuckled beneath his breath. His mother was persistent if nothing else. "What would you have me do with her?" Avernus pressed.

His gaze lifted to the soldier with that wicked smile still playing across his lips, and he decided, "We'll take her as well." Avernus did not seem the least bit surprised. This girl was reasonably attractive, and his liege had a lengthy reputation with woman. He almost felt remorse for bringing her incapacitated form to his attention. His thoughts were interrupted when Aeneas called out to his men, "Make haste. We ride for Dardania before nightfall!"

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The pain cut through the haze of the unconsciousness looming heavily over her and drugging her body with a consuming weariness. Her head throbbed incessantly from where it had hit the edge of the kitchen table during her brief brawl with the men invading her home, and the blood pulsed mercilessly within her skull, ricocheting violently with each heartbeat. The rocking motion was not helping her pain, and she groaned in her throat, trying to fight against that feeling and settle down to sleep once more. Perhaps if she could rest, then she would escape this pain, but as reality seeped into her mind, she recognized the sound of horses' galloping and realized she was not lying on her stone floor but against a man's hard chest. Her eyes sprung open without hesitation, but the world around her seemed to spin recklessly. She fought against the arms surrounding her, fearing that she had been captured by the same men who caused the lump on her head, and her hands curled into fists in the way Hector had taught her so long. She swung blindly, rarely meeting her mark, but she couldn't make sense of her situation and was too weak to pose a threat to anyone. The ground beneath them shook uneasily, and she was wild, her body flailing, her eyes wide in horror.

The strong arms around her tightened like iron bars locking her in place, and he growled out, "You're safe. Stop! You'll throw us both!" The familiarity of his voice was the only reason she ceased her struggle, but she couldn't place where she had heard it before. Her turquoise eyes narrowed as she strained to focus on his countenance. Steadily, his handsome features sharpened, and she found herself face-to-face with none other than the Dardanian Prince Aeneas. She was seated before him on his black horse, and he held her firmly to him to keep her from falling off or agitating the steed further. "You're safe," he repeated when he saw the lingering fear in her eyes, but it was no longer because of the mob that had swarmed her village. It was due to her proximity to this man. He was always taking her off guard, and it terrified her staring into those flawless blue eyes as clear as the sky and deep as the sea. When he noted that she wouldn't fight anymore, he guided his horse onward, and they kept riding. At the feeling, she struggled to recognize their surroundings, but it was nothing that she had seen before.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked warily.

"Dardania."

Her eyes widened substantially, and she sputtered, "Why? You cannot take me there! I do not live there!" He ignored her protests and kept his gaze directed ahead of them to monitor their path, completely unconcerned with the fact that he was kidnapping her. "I have a family," she pressed anxiously. "They'll fear I've been taken. I must see that they are safe and unharmed. I demand you return me at once!"

The last remark caused him to smile, and he assured her, "You are in no position to make demands."

"You cannot simply take me! Let me down… I'll walk if I must!"

He laughed lightly and shook his head. "Not in your condition. You can barely keep your head up. You'll come with me, and there is nothing you can do to convince me otherwise." She was panicking slightly especially now that she realized how little control she had over the situation. Here she was being abducted by a prince who was never subtle in his advances toward her and riding with him toward his home without anyone to protect her. The realization crashed over her so powerfully that her stomach turned, and her head spun with more force. Her body swayed in his arms, and his attention was drawn to her yet again, noting the pallor of her face and cold sweat breaking across her brow. "Rest," he coaxed gently. "We'll be in Dardania soon, and then you can sleep." She was too weak to argue with him any longer, and her head drooped against his shoulder, resting the cumbersome weight of it on him. She only planned to keep it there for a moment until she regained her strength and pushed through this dizzy haze, but when it came time to lift her head up once more, her neck refused to carry such a burden. She frowned deeply. Even her body had forsaken her, but as he had already pointed out, there was nothing she could do. In defeat, she relaxed against him, and he released one hand from gripping the reigns to curl around her and cradle her protectively to him. For the time she appeared submissive and perhaps willing, but she swore to herself then and there that she would return home as soon as she could.

—

During their ride she had slipped away into unconsciousness again, and when she woke next, her body was nestled on top of a plump mattress and soft sheets were drawn up to her waist. A fluffy pillow supported her head, and even though it ached without pause, the rest of her body felt so comfortable that she barely took notice of her pain. She sighed gently and settled deeper into the mattress, preparing to drift off once more, but in a split second everything changed: she felt an arm tighten around her waist. Her back was unusually warm, hot breath trickled across her face, and she slowly pieced together what this combination of sensations meant. All her muscles coiled around her in pregnant anticipation, and she slowly turned her head, staring out of her periphery to see blonde curls. It was an answer enough for her dumbfounded mind, and she threw herself out of the bed so swiftly that she nearly tumbled onto her face. Her hands barely caught her weight on the stone floor before her chin could make contact, and she stumbled uneasily onto her feet, tripping on the edge of her dress and spinning around in search of some exit. When she turned around she saw Aeneas was out of the bed as well with his hands up in the air, displaying a gesture of peace, and his eyes were wide as though he were confronting a cornered animal.

"Calm down," he said softly but didn't dare move a muscle for fear of startling her further.

"You touched me," she hissed out venomously and was nearly shaking as she faced him. She was torn between attacking him and fleeing the room. How did she always end up in this position with him? What god was torturing her so savagely?

"Barely," he retorted. "You're still dressed. I did nothing to you." The tone of his voice hinted that he was rather proud of this fact.

She recognized then the weight of her dress layered over her skin, but in her initial panic, she hadn't realized the same could not be said of him. Her eyes lowered down his muscular chest to his bare waist, and her jaw nearly fell as far. All at once, she threw her hands over her face to hide her eyes away and gasped, "You're naked!"

He smirked unabashedly and glanced down at his bare body. "I was sleeping," he commented as though that were explanation enough.

"You were… touching me!" she sputtered out yet again since her mind couldn't think of anything else to say, but she kept her hands plastered over her eyes to keep from seeing anymore of him despite how childish it was.

He yawned and rubbed at his face, trying to push away the weariness still lingering around him. Her tone of voice seemed too loud for this time of day. "You were the one who insisted on sleeping in my arms. As my guest, I'm obliged to satisfy your needs."

"And you make a habit of sleeping with your guests?"

"It is my bed."

The way reason completely evaded his mind enraged her. Here was a prince who thought himself above any sense of morality or common decency. "I would spear myself before lying in your arms!"

"That seems a bit dramatic… But if it is truly what you wish, I could offer you my spear." His wolfish grin returned, but her hands didn't lower from shielding her eyes to see it.

Still, her entire body trembled with fury. "You are the most intolerable man I have ever met!"

"Calm down," he said once more and rolled his eyes. "I brought you here as my guest to repay you for saving my life. There was no further intent in my mind." It was a lie, but she didn't know that.

"Then what is that?" Her finger was blindly pointed downward, and he followed the line until his gaze lowered to his hardened manhood protruding out from his body like a weapon.

His smirk morphed into a grin. "That is the morning." She looked as unsteady as a leaf in the breeze about to tumble over at any second. He grabbed a piece of sky blue material from floor and tied it about his waist to keep her from fainting any time soon. Sometimes he had that effect on women. "You need to lie down."

"I need to return home to my family," she corrected through her hands.

"I told you that you cannot return yet."

"I am not a woman to warm your bed at night!"

"I never called you such," he growled out, growing annoyed now with her stubbornness. "Will you lie down and rest, or will I be forced to make you?"

"You won't touch me!" One finger slipped away so that she could peer from behind her hands, and her gaze shifted cautiously down his body until she was sure he had covered himself. She removed her hands then to stare him down properly, not caring that her body was shaking unsteadily or that her head was spinning from her overwhelming emotions. "You will take me home."

"If I agree to return you when it is safe, will you lie down and rest now without another word otherwise?"

She was breathing erratically through her nostrils like some sort of wild animal, and her gaze flickered around nervously. "Yes," she decided all at once.

"Very well."

"Swear it."

His eyebrow subtly twitched, and his clear blue eyes narrowed. "I swear it."

"Good."

"Now lie down," he pressed for the umpteenth time. He couldn't reach her in time to catch her if she began to faint, and he wouldn't have a bruise upon her skin if he could help it. What those savages did to her already infuriated him. He brought her here so that he could care for her in any manner she needed… though there was one particular thing he wished she would call on him for. Her attention moved down to the bed a few feet from her, then back up at Aeneas who was watching her with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. She carefully took one step forward and paused to be sure he remained still. Realizing this, he crossed his arms over his chest and cocked one brow quizzically. "I won't charge you."

"I can never be sure with you… You have a habit of surprising me in the worst ways."

"I would rather surprise you than disappoint you."

"You cannot disappoint me," she assured him. "My opinion of you can't shift any lower."

"Then I am relieved."

She had taken another step but stiffened at his response. His endless abundance of quips was wearing on her. "Relieved by my loathing?"

"Relieved that I can only move upward."

"You could sprout wings, and still you wouldn't ascend higher." By that time she had moved to the edge of the bed, and she stood there, staring at him, abhorring him, and wishing she could kill him so that she could sleep without the fear of waking up beside him.

"I don't need wings to gain your favor."

She had nothing left to say to him and slowly eased her bottom down on the edge of the bed without turning her gaze away from him. She was so wary that even every breath she drew told him how little she trusted him. He relaxed when he saw her safely seated on the bed, and she hadn't noticed until then that he was even tense. He stepped toward the bed as though to lie back down beside her, and she frowned in alarm. "No!"

He turned toward her with an exhausted look, and evidently their endless battling had worn on him too. "What now?"

"I won't sleep beside you," she said shortly.

"I cannot sleep standing," he grumbled, ignoring her as he adjusted a pillow onto the side farthest away from her. He thought that would comfort her enough.

"You won't sleep here."

At the comment, his eyes narrowed, and all jesting fled from him. "It is my room."

The look he gave her was a warning, but she wouldn't heed it. Honestly, she was quivering nervously, unsure of his limits, but her stubborn nature kept her from backing down. "Then you should have given me my own."

"You're welcome to find one to your liking," he said with a grand gesture toward his door.

"No," she pressed again and straightened up to look more authoritative. "You leave."

Her gaze wavered subtly as it met his ice cold eyes. "You truly wish to throw me out of my own chambers?"

"Until I am given my own."

The anger flared in his eyes so swiftly that she felt burnt merely from maintaining his gaze, though it faded as quickly as it came. But she couldn't shake that look from her memory. He could reach those limits, but he was so clearly restraining himself. "Very well," he said through a tightening in his throat. It was probably his pride trying to choke the compliance back. Her jaw nearly fell when he surrendered, and he returned to the foot of the bed where his matching vest had been discarded. He slipped it onto his shoulders with his back to her to ensure that his absolute fury didn't slip back onto his countenance. When he turned around, his face was calm and neutral. "When you wake, I'll have a servant attend to you, and you'll be given your own quarters." She softened somewhat now that she realized he wasn't entirely incorrigible, but she was still as suspicious as ever. Surely he had some ulterior motive and was settling like a snake in the grass to snap at her when she least expected it. "Do you have any other conditions, or does driving a man from his bed satisfy you enough for one morning?" It was a slip of his temper, but it was barely a glimpse. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and that seemed more dangerous.

"No," she answered uncertainly, and her hands were clenched together in her lap, betraying her anxiety despite her numerous attempts to seem fearless.

"I'll leave you to rest." Aeneas made a show of sarcastically bowing before her, but every fiber of his being was crawling at having a woman command him. 'I trust she is worth it,' he thought to his mother and exhaled slowly. Without another word, he turned and abandoned the room in search of another.

Even after she heard the door shut safely behind him, she sat completely stiff and suspicious in his bed like someone else might jump from behind a tapestry and assault her. Her day had been full of unwelcome surprises, and she was absolutely exhausted from encountering all of them. It was the sort of weariness that permeated her bones, her muscles, her entire essence like it was seeping out of her pores. The burst of adrenaline from waking up beside Aeneas was wearing off, and now her lids hung lower down her eyes. She struggled against their weight, still not satisfied that she was safe yet. She felt like a lost animal seeking refuge and afraid of the vulnerability that sleep would bring her. It was a risk she didn't want to take, but it was a decision her body was already making for her. Her muscles relaxed one after the other until her posture was drooping lower and lower. She yawned loudly, but her eyes never ceased their inspection of her surroundings. Naturally, his chambers where grand in the way that Hector's had been, but in so many ways their differing personalities had impacted their rooms in varying ways. Where Hector had clearly preferred dark colors and sparse accents, Aeneas' chambers were more ornate and vibrant. It was all sultry colors: coppers, rusty oranges, sanguine reds, golden yellows. Gauzy veils the color of wine lined the sides of the bed and shifted with the breeze coming in from his balcony. It was not so large as Hector's, but it was full of lush carpets and cushions. Everything invited the observer to lounge and to indulge. The colors reminded her of a sunset and had a similar effect on her, drawing her even further into her weariness. She felt increasingly warmer and sleepier the longer her eyes drank in his room.

With one more distrustful glance at the door, she lay back on his bed and slipped beneath the covers again. For a time, she stared up at the canopy of the bed, twirling a curl aimlessly around her finger and searching for some familiar comfort in this foreign place, but it offered her nothing. Her heart ached as she thought of her family, of Isidora's screams, of the panic ensuing inside the village. Aeton and her father had been at sea luckily so she knew they were safe from the violence, but she worried about her pregnant sister-in-law who had none to protect her. Were they safe? Were they in Troy? Were they worrying about her? Undoubtedly they were, and she wished she could somehow tell them she was well if only to ease their minds. They had suffered enough that day without the burden of her disappearance. She wondered what purpose Aeneas had in bringing her here. Though he feigned some measure of innocence and even valor, she knew the man that lurked beneath his charm. The same man who had taken advantage of her trust when he was injured and tricked her into touching him. Even then, her cheeks blushed fiercely at the memory. There was nothing that she could do, and she missed Hector even more than ever. He would never allow her to be taken, but he was at war and would not return for perhaps years. What would become of her in that time? What would Aeneas do to her without Hector to stop him? It sent chills all over her skin, and she shuddered deep inside her body. 'You must be strong,' she heard Isidora's voice whisper to her. 'You will weather any storm, but you will need your strength. Rest now. You will find your way home soon.' The words gave her an inexplicable comfort, and she obeyed them without question as though it were truly the old servant guiding her through this trial. She settled down against the mattress and pulled the sheets further up her body. Her eyes turned to the door a final time before she closed them and allowed herself to drift away.

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**Author's Note**: Hey my lovely ladies! I know this one is a bit delayed :( I got this overwhelming inspiration for a new story, and I had to get it out before it suffocated my brain haha So I wrote like 4 chapters for that, and obviously it took away time from writing this. I almost wished I could upload those instead for you guys to read while I wrote this chapter, but it's an original story at the moment so no fanfic :( But that is definitely on hold while I work on this. I know precisely what's happening from here on out, so it's a matter of taking the time to write it!

Thank you AmyLNelson, Syrena Swift, Rath101, KawaiiHawaiian, and klandgraf2007 for the reviews :D I've never gotten 5 reviews before!

Amy: Finally Aeneas' purpose as a character in this story is revealed! haha Did you see it coming? Now Hector will be off with Andromache, and Myrina is stuck with Aeneas the charmer. Whatever will happen? (evil grin) I appreciate the input on how long you think Hector should be gone! I'll probably keep it around a year, but I'm still not positive. Still a lot to be done! I have this outline to make sure I don't leave anything out and don't forget where I put people! Hope you liked this chapter, and I can't wait to see your reaction! xoxo

Syrena: Awww a whole month without my Rosie? Bummer dude! I'll just have to make it extra good, so that when you come back and read it your mind explodes ;) Priam the king of douchiness hahahaha Dude I LOVE Priam in the movies, so I really don't know how he came out such an asshole in my story. Like I feel like I had no control over that. I wasn't trying to do it purposely! I mean in the prologue he's like kind old King Priam and now he's the King of Douchiness... Quite a leap! I'll try to get out another chapter for you to nibble on before you leave, gorgeous! Hope you enjoyed this chapter :D

Rath: I do love Ever After :) I've been caught! Jesus, me and my girlfriends had an epic night watching like all kinds of chick flics from When Harry Met Sally to Ever After, and then I sat down to write that chapter... And I could not get some of those lines out of my head haha! God it was so frustrating. Like I need to be intelligent to have this really important conversation between Priam and Hector and Hecuba, and all I can hear is their lines in my head! I kept trying to reword the idea of them to make them my own. I'm going back through the entire story when I'm done and rework/edit everything so fixing that is on the to-do list :) Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and keep me honest, gurl! ;)

Kawaii: Hey dialogue junkie! Andromache will and is definitely bringing some new interest to the story... and now let the adventures of Myrina in Dardania begin! Will Aeneas wear her down and get into her pants? Will Hector give in and marry Andromache? Sooo many ways that things could go, and I'm really excited to go from here! I've been planning this since I began writing the story friggin 30 chapters ago haha Myrina's going to find out about the engagement in probably one of the next two chapters, and you can imagine how she'll feel -especially if she's in Dardania :) Hope you liked this chapter xoxo

klandgraf: Hey gorgeous! I PMed you because if you're not caught up then you probably won't read this right away, but I wanted to say thanks here too :)


	32. Lost

Chapter 31  
"Lost"

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Recommended Songs: "Skip The Charades" – Cold War Kids & "High and Dry" – Radiohead

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When she finally emerged to face the day, she was dressed in a languid white gown which fell below her shoulder blades in the back and gathered beneath her bust. Two rather measly triangular pieces of material cupped her breasts, and a thin gold cord looped through an eyelet in the material to slip over her shoulder and attach to the back. The simplicity of it appealed to her since she felt no need enhance her appearance for this prince, but the amount of her shoulders, upper back, and chest available to any pair of wandering eyes was another matter entirely. Even after a matching layer of white material was draped across her, the right half of her body was still mainly exposed. She was certain it was no coincidence, and perhaps it was some petty way for Aeneas to punish her for throwing him out of his own chambers. It was childish and insulting, and she marched irritably down the hall, guided by a servant, to answer Aeneas' call. To be modest, she draped part of her hair across her right shoulder to hide what she could, but she was absolutely furious with him and didn't even shift her attention away from her loathing long enough to monitor their path and take in the Dardanian palace. She was too preoccupied carrying on a very heated discussion with him in her mind and planning out all the caustic, biting things she would say to be sure he understood how crass and vile he was. He was debatably the most abhorrent man on this entire earth.

They turned another corner and were faced with an immense courtyard. There was no roof to shield it from the sun's rays, and the light illuminated the layers of greenery punctuated by patterns of brightly colored flowers. The mismatched stone blocks were wedged one up to the other and varying shades of cream that reflected back the rays. The entire space had an airiness, a lightness, an ethereal beauty that stole her anger from her body in a breath. In fact she wished she could feel fury, but its pure unadulterated charm cooled her like aloe to a burn. The servant stepped aside, signaling without a word that she was to advance alone, and Myrina quietly stepped across the threshold between two large stone pillars and into the sun. Her white dress shone with a more powerful vibrancy than that of the creamy stone, and her eyes narrowed to block out the light. There were stone benches arranged about the perimeter, and she skirted around one for a better view of the central area. Stone beds held an assortment of tulips, lenten roses, windflowers, crocuses, and more than she could even recognize. They overwhelmed her with their color, nestled among shades of deep green, and bursting from the pale stone like an eruption of natural artistry. Her eyes were so caught up drinking in everything that she only noticed much later what was planted in the center of the space. A large tree sprung up proudly with its canopy spreading out as though it were trying to reach the sides of the palace, but even its long arms couldn't span that distance considering the size of the courtyard. From the branches hung an assortment of lanterns which undoubtedly illuminated the space when Artemis was at play. She suddenly wished it were night if only to witness how spectacular a sight that could be, but her thoughts were soon interrupted by a shift in the shade pooling around the base.

He stood with his arms crossed over his chest and his shoulder supporting his weight against the bark. Even basking in the shade, she could see the smile curling up his lips, and the recognition of him was so abrupt that she actually flinched and placed at hand to her chest, feeling her heart race underneath. He had startled her, and that seemed to amuse him even more as he moved from beneath the shade to meet her out in the sunlight. He was still wearing the pale blue robes from the morning, but she hadn't spared much notice to them before. They were lined with a darker blue and silver thread that mimicked the shades of his eyes, and the vest fit loosely to flash the taut muscles wrapping around his slender waist and crease through the center of his chest. For that reason, she made a point to keep her eyes fixated on his own, and this required tilting her head back as he neared her to angle her gaze upward enough. He was taller than she remembered, and she wasn't sure why that fact stood out to her above everything else. It flickered through her mind briefly, and then her attention settled on the clarity of his eyes peering unwaveringly back at her. The amusement, happiness, and pleasure in them infuriated her. He always looked so elated when faced with her, and she hated that. He acted like he knew her long before they ever met, and it left her caught behind, awkward and unsure of how to behave around him. Usually her temper took hold, and she was never so vehement with anyone else. It was some guard she never realized she had built to shut him out. Those eyes cornered her every time, and she was too afraid to let them pass through her.

"You look more beautiful each time I see you," he said gingerly.

How could he think that was an appropriate greeting among strangers? "You called for me," she said impatiently, wishing to be through with this matter so that she could plan her escape, away from this palace and away from him.

"I trust you're well rested from my bed." The jab was not missed on her. "The healer said you would need rest and time, but that there were no dire effects of your injury."

"I would fare better were I to see my family."

His shoulders dropped in an exhausted fashioned. "How many times must I tell you that you cannot leave yet?"

"However long it takes for you to return me."

"Are you always this stubborn?" It was less an insult than a genuine inquiry.

"Only with you," she assured him.

"It's fortunate then that I've been blessed with an easy temperament."

The image of his ice cold stare flashed before her eyes, and inwardly she acknowledged that his limits were far beyond safe. She briefly wondered then why she continually provoked him. "Is it in your nature or an effect of the wine?"

Rather than being putt off, he smiled. "Perhaps both… I don't believe you're truly this combative."

"Don't mistake me for one of your soft tongued, dimwitted concubines."

"No, I am in awe of the skill of your tongue, but I could think it put to better use outside our arguments."

Her cheeks flushed and with it came a tidal wave of her fury. "There is not a piece of me, not even a hair on my head, that will ever engage you in any way than to remind you how repulsive you are."

The words spit from her lips like venom and visibly stunned him. Her eyes wavered uncomfortably as his expression slowly fell to one of disappointment. He portrayed himself as some invincible demi-god, invulnerable to insult or injury, but occasionally the humanity in him seeped through to stir at her conscience. She hated that. She could wage war against a god, not this man. Their lines fell back, and they faced each other on the battlefield amidst the gore and casualties. "Why do you despise me so?"

"I've told you before."

"Yes, that you hate my 'tricks.'" He smirked softly. "Have I not been honest with you?"

"No… You claim that you've brought me here as some sort of repayment for my benefit, and yet you neglect that I am kept here against my will."

"It is better for you that you are with me. I brought you here to care for you."

"If you wished to care for me, then you should have taken me to my family."

"It was not an option at the time. Did you expect that I would rescue you and ride to Troy unannounced at your command? I'm not a servant to you."

"Then you should have left me where I was."

"You were injured and unsafe there. I protected you, can you not see that? I saved you, and you scorn me for it." Suddenly her tongue was caught in her throat, and he searched her eyes, realizing that finally his words were impacting her. "I have cared for you from the moment I first laid eyes on you. I have taken you into my home, given you my bed, clothed you, fed you… Tell me what more you wish of me, and I will gladly do it."

He had silenced her so swiftly, so completely and made her feel the size of a flea standing beside him. Her previously drawn features now settled shamefully on her face, and she swallowed down the last of her stubbornness. "You have been kind and gracious toward me."

"And yet it is not enough."

"I am not ungrateful for what you have done for me… but by the manner in which you do all those things. You protected me, but you brought me here against my will. You sheltered me, but you did not spare a thought to how I would feel waking beside you. You've clothed me, but I've never felt so bare."

It was the first conversation they had ever shared without his charms and without her temper. He stared at her like it was the first time he had ever seen her, his eyes scanning her expression, her face, her posture. He had found a hole in her armor and peeked inside with a curious gaze, and all at once, she turned away, closing the door safely behind her. The silent exchange ended as well, and he nodded gently and promised, "Whatever wrong I have done, I will right until you are satisfied."

She licked her dry lips, still burned from staring at him too long, too strongly. It was so brief, but it made her feel guilty and violated simultaneously. "Take me home," she begged softly. He was too dangerous for her to stand. Her turquoise gaze met his, and she swallowed heavily. "Please."

"I will." Her gaze softened, and a smile tugged at his lips to see her look at him that way. "When it is safe."

In a flash, the tempest returned full forced, and her eyes flared angrily. "You swore this morning!"

"I swore I would return you when it is safe," he reminded her easily, trying to somehow calm her down before he lost her again. "I won't risk your life to appease you… even if you loathe me for it!"

"What risk is there?" she challenged.

His jaw clenched as he stared back at her, knowing that the threat he continually referenced was in fact a lie. They had quelled the last of the mob. There was nothing left to torment their lands, but he couldn't release her –not when he finally had her in his grasp. That one glimpse behind her shield gave him hope that he could break her yet, but it would take time gaining her trust and her love. Perhaps one day he would make her forgive this deception, but he lied for the opportunity to have her at his side permanently, "The foreigners have not been captured entirely. They still roam about the lands. Your family is safe in Troy, but you will not be if you return to your village. I swear on my life that I will kill every last one of them and return you to your family myself if that is what you wish."

She searched his face for any signs of deception, but there was none to be seen. Aeneas had practiced his stoic expression for years after all the mischief he had caused as a boy. "I wish to be with my family in Troy," she tried again.

Her loyalty was unwavering, but he was envious of its attachment. He had never had a woman feel that way toward him, nor had he spared the energy to reciprocate it. "I have more important concerns than transporting you." For all his promises, he was another preoccupied prince, and she abruptly felt scorned by his flippant dismissal and looked away. He caught the look and stepped closer to her, trying to draw her back in. "And I wouldn't rest for fear that you were not guarded from harm."

She shifted from foot to foot, swaying uneasily beneath the weight of his words, and couldn't bear to see the expression he chose to accompany his charm. She didn't trust him or his allure, but after several minutes of silence fell between them, it was clear he wouldn't move from this topic until she acknowledged it. "Why do you care for me at all?" It felt more like a curse than a blessing. She yearned with every fiber of her being for one prince and yet was being tormented by the affections of another. Some god must find toying with her life an amusing way to pass the time.

"I don't know," he admitted earnestly. Never one to be serious for too long, the prince smiled slyly. "Perhaps I enjoy the lashing you give me each time we meet."

"Am the only woman to defy you?"

"No… but you are the only one who has fought me for so long."

"If you wish for it to end, you should leave me be."

"I've tried." He realized her presence beside him contradicted his words, but he meant them. He turned from her to face a statue of his mother, the Goddess Aphrodite, perched on one side of the courtyard as though she were peering out across the elegance. That's how he had wanted it. Pure white tulips surrounded the base, sprouting up to caress her feet, and he liked the idea of her surrounded by beauty. It seemed fitting. "But our paths have crossed by chance too many times for me to ignore… I've long known of the gods' involvement in my life. This is not a coincidence, Myrina." It was the first time he had said her name, and her breath caught to hear it fall from another man's lips other than Hector's. His blue eyes met hers, and the seriousness in them made the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on edge. She hoped with every ounce of effort in her that he was wrong.

* * *

It took a little over a week for the army to travel south to Pedasus, and then they trailed along the coast until they reached the outpost along the border between Troad and Cilicia about ten days later. Journeying with a full army took time and patience since the bulk of the men were on foot and would consequently need breaks to stop and rest during the days. With every passing hour, it felt like Hector was growing more sullen because in his mind time would only strengthen the power of this engagement. A swift dismissal would be far better received than one that came months later when news had already spread, plans were in motion, and hopes were increasing. What made it even more difficult was having Podes at his side and not his best friend Aeneas. The latter at least could sympathize with Hector and perhaps offer some ill-timed advice and inappropriate humor to lighten his mood. With Podes, his soon to be brother-in-law, Hector had to maintain more than his stoic face. He had to be cordial if not fully amicable, and that was a far more difficult thing for him to manage especially as time wore on. The journey to Thebe seemed endless, and the anxiety, fury, and despair were brewing like a storm in him. Sometimes he feared others could see the thunder in his eyes, the power of his wrath, but this was beyond anything he had ever been trained to deal with. This was a decision that would determine the rest of his life, and he was walking blindly toward a match he had never wanted nor anticipated.

Evening had fallen, and night was chasing away the last remnants of day. Podes and Hector sat across a fire with a few of their trusted men, Lysander among them, and discussed the upcoming war, affairs in Cilicia, past battles, Hittite strength, and such. The flames reflected in his dark eyes, and he stared lost into them, mesmerized by their constant shifting and changing. Too many fires had he seen consume the bodies of his countrymen and soldiers, and yet again, he found himself recalling Merops' reading: 'The only peace you will find is in death.' One day the flames would lick his corpse, peeling away the skin, the flesh, the tissue and leaving nothing but the bones. There would be peace for him descending into Hades to face Charon and pay his fee to cross the lifeless river Styx. He wondered what awaited him there that would soothe the turmoil of his life, that would finally offer him satisfaction. Did Merops mean the Elysian Fields? Could Hector be so blessed as to bear that fate? Or was it possible he only meant that an escape from existence would bring him peace? That made his heart drum loudly in his ears, and his chest tighten uneasily. The notion that death would be more welcome than life inherently meant that his life was meaningless. Part of him wished he had road north to Percote to visit Merops again and have more revealed to him, but there was no time for that. This fate was left in his mortal hands, but he had never felt more powerless.

"What say you, Prince Hector?" Podes called out jovially from across the fire, and it took a moment for the words to garner a reaction from the Trojan. Moments later his head lifted to signal the return of his attention to the conversation, and he peered at Podes with an abysmal expression like his eyes were bottomless vacuums, consuming whatever was offered with nothing to return. "What do you think?" he repeated with a slight frown of confusion at receiving such a look.

One corner of his mouth lifted in a half-hearted smile, and his brow softened above his searing gaze. "The day's journey has worn on me, my friend. I've barely heard a word since we sat." The shadows cast from the fire settled in the exhausted lines of his face. In truth, the prince couldn't recall the last time he had slept soundly. He could remember, but sometimes he wished to forget. His brow twitched, and all at once, he could feel the weight of her in his arms, the sultry heat of her naked body pressed full against his, the rocking like the waves as her chest swelled and shrunk with her steady breath, her relaxed features, eyes closed in complete trust, secret smile of satisfaction when she caught him waking her… The memory felt so fresh that his skin burned from touching hers, and he could smell her scent wafting about him, mixed with his own like she was wrapped him and he in her. He had marked her as his own that night, but he had not realized how strongly she had branded him in return. The imprint was deeper than blood or bones and cut him somewhere where he could still recognize pain. The rest felt numb.

"You should retire," Podes recommended kindly. "You'll need your rest before we arrive in Thebe. My brothers are so eager to meet you, I doubt they'll let you sleep for the first three days."

"Six more brothers to meet…" He acknowledged, wrapping his mind around the number. "I should hope they'll all consider me as favorably as you do."

"They will. There is not a better match to be found."

"The wine assists your judgment, and for that I'm grateful."

"Treat my sister well, and you'll need no aid from the wine," Podes quipped with a smile.

"With six older brothers, I don't have a choice," Hector returned amiably, but it was a well-played deception. It would be advantageous if one of Eetion's sons abhorred him and tried to fight him. Then perhaps he could find a reason to end this engagement.

"You'll have no reason to upset us. My sister's a good woman. She'll make you a fine wife."

Speaking of his bride-to-be, his interest was admittedly piqued. "I can assume so, but all I've heard is of her beauty and skills in weaving." Both were thanks to his sisters.

"She does have an adept hand, and the gods graced her with a fair face," Podes assured him. "But those are not the characteristics that will serve you." Hector gave him an inquisitive look, and the Cilician prince continued, "She has a gentle nature and a wise spirit. She'll bring you honor with her modesty and humility."

By first impressions, she sounded completely uninteresting, but Hector had to remember Podes would only tell him what he believed to be qualities worthy of a wife and future princess of Troy. Upon further evaluation, they would serve him well on the surface, but the only thing he could think about was Myrina's sharp tongue, her stubbornness, the calluses on her hands, and her fiery nature. She impassioned him in ways a woman shouldn't, but that was why he had always liked her. She never pretended with him, and that had garnered her his unyielding trust and loyalty. He couldn't stand the charade of court life and wouldn't allow that to extend to his marriage as well. But he may not have a choice. Ignoring this train of thought, he lied, "I am lucky then." It seemed so much more bitter and sarcastic saying such a thing about a faceless princess than about his Myrina.

In a fortnight he would finally face his bride.

* * *

Over a week later, Myrina was still lost in the Dardanian palace without access to or knowledge of her family's well-being. In truth it was driving her crazy, but beyond worrying for her family, she was forced daily to interact with Aeneas. It seemed like a punishment, and for the first three days, she had attempted to stow away in her room where she assumed he wouldn't disturb her. Naturally Aeneas was not one to be defeated so easily, and he called on her so often that she realized it was best to simply speak (or argue rather) with him about whichever topic he chose that day before he left her alone to attend to her own business for the remainder. The routine never changed, and she was feeling increasingly like a horse he was trying to break: testing her boundaries, striving to gain her trust, moving slowly to coax her, forcing her at other times. It was exhausting maintaining her guard, and on the fifth day, she had abandoned all courtesy and snapped viciously at him. She had stormed away and left the courtyard without waiting for him to dismiss her. It was actually a small wonder she hadn't been punished for her tongue or actions around the prince, and maybe some part of her wished she would be. There were times when the dungeons seemed more alluring than spending another afternoon with Aeneas.

As if their daily discussions weren't enough, her presence was required at dinner each evening. This responsibility she didn't mind quite as much. Anchises, Aeneas' father, had a beautiful spirit and treated her so kindly that she couldn't not enjoy his company. He often told her grand stories of times when he was a young man, before he was crippled by Zeus' wrath. Aeneas would occasionally interject since his father's memory was waning, but Myrina couldn't have cared if all the tales were lies. Anchises believed them, and so did she. The attitude in Dardania was completely different than in Troy simply because no one granted her a second glance. No doubt Aeneas' playboy past had something to do with this, but it was absolutely liberating not feeling haunted by a thousand pairs of eyes. Even at dinner, no one concerned themselves with her meager heritage or lowly status. 'A fisherman's daughter?' they'd repeated with a slight look of surprise -which she later learned was a charade more than an insult. 'How are the seas? What of the catches?' It was almost surreal being accepted into a place where she should for every reason feel alienated. She found herself hating more and more how much she didn't hate Dardania. It was like sleeping with the enemy. She couldn't allow it.

It was at dinner one evening that the news finally caught up with her. "Why does Hector never visit?" Anchises wondered loudly and scratched at his white beard.

His name was discussed so often at the table that she had almost become numb to it -almost. "I've told you, father," Aeneas answered with a sigh since he was often forced to jog his father's memory. "He is at war. He's travelled with the army south to Cilicia."

"Cilicia? What need do they have for Troy's army?"

"Powers in the east have risen as they always do," the prince answered with a bored tone, swirling his cup of wine idly as he spoke. "Eetion suffered a grave misfortune when his lands were torn apart. Don't you recall, father?"

"Yes, of course I remember," Anchises countered shortly, and Aeneas caught Myrina's eye in a knowing way. She smiled at their shared joke, withholding a laugh, and his eyes warmed at the sight. "But that was months ago. And there was no word of the east."

Aeneas returned his attention to his father with his mood considerably lifted. "The Hittites seek to gain from Cilicia's misfortune. Eetion called on King Priam for aid at the borders."

"That is easily managed," Anchises decided with a dismissive wave of his hand. "That is hardly a war... Remind me to tell you of the time Priam and I travelled to Ethiopia," he said to Myrina with a broad grin, glad to have new company that he could dazzle with his old tales.

"I would love to hear it," she rejoined earnestly, remembering the wind chime in Hector's quarters. It left her melancholy to think of their stolen night.

"It is no concern. Priam and Hector will return with honor in a year or less."

"Hector will return with more than honor," Aeneas said somberly. It was a rare tone from the prince, and it caught Myrina's attention for that reason.

"What else do you expect him to find in Cilicia?"

"A wife." Those two simple words bladed through her chest so completely that she didn't immediately recognize the pain. It was a clean cut and sucked all the air from her lungs in one rough attempt. Her entire body coiled in shock, and an invisible hand hollowed out her insides, leaving her bare of emotion or thought. Oblivious, Aeneas continued, "Before he left, Eetion sent a last group of diplomats and among them was Eetion's youngest son. Evidently his purpose was to decide the final arrangements for the bride price and such... It was announced at dinner that Hector will marry Eetion's daughter."

Her cup abruptly fell, spilling the unfinished wine onto the table in a dark red pool. It slid across the table, dripping off the edge, and stained her white dress red. The memory of her dream from so long ago flashed before her eyes, and she felt some overwhelming force of fate and destiny and foreshadowing. Momentarily it tore her away from reality, swarming around her and blocking out any input from the world surrounding her. Then she felt a warm hand on her arm and turned out of instinct to face the wielder. His powerful blue eyes cut through the darkness, and this time she clung to them, drawing herself from the center of the chaos and back to the present. Barely a second had passed by though it felt like an eternity, and she felt the dampness of the wine seeping through her dress. But it seemed disconnected as though her consciousness was somehow separated from her physical state.

"Myrina," he said, but it was more a question.

Her eyelids flickered like she was waking from a meditative state, and she turned her attention to her dress and the pool of wine still on the table. "I'm sorry."

"What ails you, child?" Anchises asked with his heavy brow furrowed in concern.

"I fear the heat of the day has caught up with me," she lied, not even realizing where the words were coming from. She heard them like a listener, not the deliverer. "I feel a bit ill. Will you excuse me?"

"Of course. Should I send the healer?"

"No, I will rest and be well by morning. I'm sorry." She stood numbly, and Aeneas was at her side, offering his hand to help her over the bench. She was too stunned to fight him and took his hand, granting him part of her weight as she lifted her dress and stepped over the bench. His gaze was intently on her, recognizing that she was not well, but she barely glanced at him as she stepped away and took her leave from the dining hall. One her way back to her quarters, the pain set in as the shock wore off. _A wife_. The pain in her chest hit sharply, and she suddenly leaned against the wall to support herself. Her hand covered her heart, and she looked down at it almost expecting to see thick red blood pouring out of her. But she was uninjured by all appearances. Inwardly, something had been severed, and she was crumbling quickly, collapsing in on herself, compressing with a searing pain. Her eyes closed against it. Her mouth clenched to hold a scream. It felt like half of her was being ripped out, splitting at the seams, her skin tearing, her muscles ripping, her bones breaking, her soul shredding. It was most excruciating pain she had ever experienced, and when it passed, she was left with a cold sweat covering her, her breath rattled, her heart beat unsteadily.

"Myrina." There he was again, and she cursed him for following after her when she longed for another. She cursed him for ever speaking her name. His arm circled her waist and drew her away from wall, steadying her against his body. "What is it?" His hand cupped her face and forced her to look at him, but her eyes could scarcely focus on his face -not because she was incapable but because she didn't want to. She didn't want to acknowledge him. "Why are you crying?" She hadn't even realized the warmth of tears staining her cheeks until he said it, and his thumb smeared the lines as it attempted to sweep them away. "Speak to me," he begged, and the arm around her shook her slightly to wake her whatever numbed her senses.

"My brother," her mouth lied, and again she had no idea where the words came from. "He fights in Cilicia."

Aeneas lowered his forehead to her own and closed his eyes with a slight sigh, perhaps relieved that she was not physically ill. Without another word, he bent down to catch her knees with his other arm and swept her up against his chest. Her head hung limply against his shoulder, and she couldn't speak her opposition through the lump in her throat. She was unresponsive in her arms, and her eyes lost focus while the memory seared painfully in her brain. _A wife_. The knife dug deeper, and without thinking, she buried her face into the material of his vest, vainly trying to hide away from the reality. His grip on her tightened, drawing her closer to protect her from whatever sieged her mind, but she would not find peace -not in any embrace but Hector's. His musky scent hit her nostrils, and she began sobbing, shaking forcefully in his arms, because it was not what she remembered. Aeneas was unwittingly washing away the memory, and she wanted to rip him to shreds for that. How did Hector call her name? What was his scent? Then a soft material crumpled underneath her weight, and he settled her down without losing his grip on her to lay them both on the bed. In his arms, the pain was complete. She loathed him so intensely for bringing her this news and now for trying to ease her. But the knife in her chest tore through the center of her to her very being and stole away all her strength. What was left was a sobbing, shaking, shattered woman who would not be healed by all the medicines in the world.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Hello my beauties! In the next chapter Hector meets Andromache :) Are you all on the edges of your seats? I kinda am, and I'm writing it hahaha I'm just not sure how it's going to come out at all, so we shall see. Myrina with Aeneas in Dardania is admittedly really fun to write. I love having them argue haha

Thank you to AmyLNelson, Syrena Swift, KawaiiHawaiian, and SarcasticEnigma for the super sweet reviews! :D

Amy: Myrina and Aeneas will have a kinda friendship. Honestly Aeneas is a man and therefore completely determined to get into her pants however the heck he can! He doesn't mind getting to know her better, but he'd like to be friends with benefits, ya know? haha The next chapter is where Hector meets Andromache, and Myrina's still going to be a bit of a mess understandably and how Aeneas plays into that or rather takes advantage of that is up for discussion right now :) Thanks for the review, lovely and hope you enjoyed this chapter xoxo

Syrena: I failed you! I was really trying to get this up yesterday, but epic fail :( Hopefully you have fun on your vacation, and you'll see this when you return! Hector storm Aeneas' castle hahahaha Omg all I could think about was Anchorman: "I'm storming your castle on my steed, m'lady!" and I was laughing so hard :D Like some gay experience between Hector and Aeneas! I'm glad you find Aeneas a badass! Honestly this sounds self-indulgent, but Aeneas is probably the most fun to write. I don't know where he comes from, but he's fun -especially with a boner ;) That was like my favorite part too. I knew that scene was going to happen, and I had to work that line in there somehow cause I just felt it was so him. Thanks for the review! :D

Kawaii: Hello dialogue junkie! haha Yea I kinda hoped the Aeneas thing would take you guys by surprise. I mean I know you all were kinda wondering what the heck is Aeneas doing in the story aside from arguing with Myrina, being a bad influence on Hector, and screwing women? Well this is his purpose as a character! YAY! To kinda be a rival to Hector for Myrina's affections. Whether he's successful or not... Well you'll find out in the next couple of chapters :D Don't you hate me for being vauge? haha Thanks for the review, gorgeous and hope you liked this chapter! ;)

Sarcastic: First off, best name ever! :D Secondly, you are so friggin sweet! Egads! Thanks :) Love of epic proportions. That got me haha That's fantastic! There was some smartass back and forth between Myrina and Aeneas here so hopefully that made you giggle or grin or happy. Like I said, Andromache is finally making an appearance in the next chapter. Is it bad that I still haven't really thought through her as a character yet? I mean I have... In a vague way. Hmmm we'll see what happens! Obviously at this point I could go a lot of directions... Aeneas could win Myrina's heart. Hector could marry Andromache. Hector could break off the engagement and get his girl. Aliens could come from Mars and kill everybody... You don't know! But stick around, and you shall discover the truth! D Thanks for review, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter xoxo


	33. Cygnus Olor

Chapter 32  
"Cygnus Olor"

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Recommended Songs: "The Funeral" – Band of Horses & "Someone Like You" – ADELE

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A fortnight later, the Trojan army arrived in Cilicia only a little over a month after leaving Troy. Remnants of distress from the uprising months ago were still visible in areas of Cilicia, and Hector saw contingents of the army still enforcing military rule in some small villages on the outskirts of the country. Generally speaking though the country was attempting to rebuild despite the Hittite forces bearing down on them from the east. In the west near the Aegean Sea villages were naturally much calmer since they had not felt the effects of the Hittites, but as the army travelled further east and deeper into Cilica, they could see a renewed sense of agitation among the people. He didn't blame them. It was difficult for any population to endure a peasant uprising followed by an invasion of their lands. Many of the villagers would break from their business for the day to gather and watch the army passing by. Hector could see the relief on their faces that someone had taken pity on them and finally come to their aid. It gave him a bit of peace knowing that he was able to help others, but still the tempest grew unhindered within him and progressively became more and more powerful until daily it threatened to overcome him. The Fates' hands weighed heavily on his shoulders, guiding him toward a destiny he had no desire to welcome, but he was beginning to realize that his entire life had been mapped out before him. He never had a choice. As a boy, he had fallen victim to his father's puppeteer hand, but now the strings of Fate pulled at his limbs. Myrina had been his only selfish action and decision, but she was torn from him as swiftly as he had finally conquered her.

When they arrived in Thebe, the citizens flooded the streets to witness their saviors and cheered loudly for them as they marched through the city and toward the palace in the center. Hector didn't spare the attention to acknowledge the men and women welcoming him. His chestnut eyes had darkened to the color of coal and were fixated solely on the walls of the palace drawing closer and closer. There was no turning away or avoiding this any longer. Time sped up, and his mind was oppressed and consequently delayed in accepting new information about his surroundings. His body moved methodically free from his consciousness, and only later did he realize he was walking up the steps toward a flat plane at the top where he knew the royal family was waiting. Podes was at his right, and Priam trailed up ahead of them. For once he was grateful for his father's presence since the King could act as a buffer and would engage the family first before Hector. They ascended the final step, and he saw the family situated a short distance ahead. Podes quickened his step and approached a man with a longer white beard and dark brown eyes. They embraced each other easily, and if Hector had any doubts before, he certain this was Eetion. There were several men older than him gathered as well, but he didn't count seven in total. As his gaze drifted right, warm caramel eyes met his, but they barely locked for a second before she looked down at her folded hands. Even after she looked away, his attention remained on her for longer than was polite. He couldn't help it. His curiosity overwhelmed him, and he knew all too well who this young woman was. It was only when his father spoke up that his gaze snapped away, and he admonished himself for allowing his conduct to slip. If ever there was a time that he needed to present himself as the brave, astute, proud Crown Prince of Troy, it was now.

"You must be Hector," Eetion said as he gazed past Priam to the large man towering above the rest.

"My lord, it is an honor to finally meet you," he acknowledged as he stepped forward to greet the King properly.

"I am the one who is honored," he assured him. "It has been too long since our countries have united in action, but Troy has proven loyal in her allies." Eetion nodded proudly in Priam's direction. "Even after all these years."

"It is an unfortunate truth that every country falls victim to the gods' will, and Troy offers her support now trusting that Cilicia will do the same should the time ever arrive… whether a year from now or ten," Priam commented pointedly.

"The union of Prince Hector and my daughter will solidify our loyalty for decades to come, Priam. My sons are only too pleased to see their sister married so well. Hector will hold their allegiance long after our bodies have been burned."

"Then it is a fruitful union for both our countries."

"On this occasion the gods have smiled on us, my old friend."

With pleasantries exchanged, Priam and Hector were formally introduced to four of Podes' elder brothers. The other two were leading the army at the borders and couldn't be called away for the time being. Hector would no doubt befriend them with their new alliance baptized by the blood of their enemies. He had become accustomed to this ritual ever since his first war in Greece. The brothers each resembled the other closely: tall, narrowly packed muscles giving them a slender appearance, thick, dark auburn curls crowning their heads, light brown eyes. They welcomed him warmly, and though he could sense the expected, underlying protective nature in them, he was hardly intimidated by them. Their approval was unnecessary. Thebe benefitted this most from this union, and there was no doubt Priam had been merciful in agreeing to marry his eldest son to Eetion's only daughter. They would bend over backwards to please him, and he faced them with a certain amount of audacity, knowing he was in the position of power among them. It was not arrogance, but it was a silent acknowledgment of his clout. Antinous, Lysides, Hyperion, and Proneos… Then the young woman who unwittingly held his fate in her hands.

"And my youngest and only daughter, Andromache," Eetion introduced with a distinct swell to his tone. Pride. He was proud to present her before him, and he turned to her with the weight of a boulder suddenly crushing his chest. His dark eyes seared into her more powerfully than he meant, and she was unable to maintain his gaze, allowing her own line of sight to drop to his chest covered by the bronze plate of his armor. He would have admonished himself for being so overpowering, but he had lost the will to fully control himself. There she stood with the same dark auburn curls as her brothers drawn over one shoulder and gathered by a golden clasp. Her face was sculpted by a striking bone structure, marked with high cheekbones separated by a slender straight nose scattered with tiny freckles. She was taller than he had anticipated, and the top of her head reached his chin so that she would fit perfectly underneath. He wasn't sure why that thought occurred to him, but he dismissed it as soon as it popped into his head. She had a shapely figure that was modestly draped in fabric, and after a moment, she hesitantly lifted her eyes once more to meet his. This time she didn't flee from whatever was lingering within the dark depths and instead searched the pools. Likewise he noted the apprehension, curiosity, and mild fear in her caramel orbs. She reminded him of a doe, poised, tender, and innately cautious. For some reason, it caused him to reel in his dominance and overpowering nature as though he might scare her off if he approached her too boldly. Though he hadn't moved or spoken a word, the initial tension between them shifted like the tide to reveal something less offensive and more subtle. 'Your wife.' The words slipped through his consciousness so innocently that he initially didn't acknowledge them, but as he realized that even this reality had infiltrated his mind, the shield struck up between them with a renewed vengeance. Without hesitation her gaze resumed its inspection of his chest plate like nothing had been exchanged between them at all.

"My lord," she spoke up with a voice more controlled and mature than he had expected. It was a hint at something more experienced within her that intrigued him far beyond her fair looks. "I am pleased your journey was secure, and I pray you'll find the accommodations in Cilicia satisfying before you travel to the border."

Beyond her tone, there was nothing offered to him from her words. Polite. Moderate. He would expect no less from his betrothed, but he was underwhelmed by her simplicity. "I am already grateful for Cilicia's hospitality," he rejoined with a measured voice, easily returning her lack of personality. "It is a welcome respite before war."

"You'll find in rest in Cilicia, Prince Hector," Antinous assured him amicably.

"But there are matters to be discussed before dinner," Proneos interrupted with a smile though the lines in his face spoke of his unease about the invaders to their lands.

Hector turned his attention away from Andromache, feeling her eyes peer up at him from under her lashes now that his gaze had left her, and rejoined, "Of course. There's still much to be discussed. Prince Podes updated us on matters at the border, but I'm sure much has changed since he was last in Cilicia."

Without further regard, the group of men, Eetion, Priam, Hector, the Cilician princes, and several Trojan generals were guided toward the throne hall where they could examine the current conditions at the border and decide how best to defend the borders. Conversations were lengthy as each had anticipated since they needed to divide troops, assign locations of camps, and be informed about the Hittite forces. Hector was largely outspoken during the encounter if only to solidify his sway and be sure Eetion did not take advantage of the Trojan forces, manipulating them to his advantage but not necessarily to the best use of their numbers. Now that he was named as a general to command his own contingent of cavalry, he had a much more affected role within the army. Thus he had a better reason to immerse himself in the discussions and be sure his voice was heard. When they parted to be shown their quarters before dinner, he was satisfied with the strategy and looked forward to joining the army at the borders in a few days' time. Now, however, he had to face a battle of his own to endure a dinner beside his betrothed and try to politely engage her in a conversation that would surely present him with nothing about her personality or opinions. A now well known stab bladed through his chest as he acknowledged he missed Myrina's fiery nature. He missed their arguments, their taunting. He exhaled slowly through his nostrils, trying to ease the pressure building up inside him, but he could deflate that tension so easily. It had built up over a month since he learned of his betrothal, and now he feared the only means to expel it was ironically the source: Myrina.

At dinner, he eyed the wine in his cup, wishing to tilt his head and engulf it all in one attempt. Then another. And another. It was petty, but some part of him wanted to numb the thoughts with a burst of irrational behavior worthy of Aeneas. Yet again he cursed himself for not calling on their Dardanian allies. Aeneas' company would have been welcome. He was far more entertaining than the Cilician princess now burdening him with their pointless conversation. He had complimented her on her weaving, her beauty, and her modesty. In turn, she had commended his eloquence, his generosity, and his valor. It was some exhausting exchange that hardly stroked his ego. He had no need for her flattery or their shallow conversation, but it was another duty he had to master for the better of his country. Gazing at her from the corner of his eye, he pondered why she was the better option for Troy. His father approved, she faked the smiles and interest so effortlessly, and her reputation was flawless… By all royal measures, she was his perfect match. He wasn't impressed.

"What of affairs in Troy?" she inquired politely once the necessary praises were addressed.

"Well," he returned while withholding a sigh that this was the next topic of their conversation. At least it was one he was more comfortable with. He could discuss Troy for an endless period of time. "Harvests have been fruitful, enemies scarce, the gods forgiving." For the first time that night, he granted her a rare, true smile, and her attention lingered on him, savoring that unexpected glimpse.

"I'm sure I will find it as pleasant," she murmured, but there was a bit of remorse hanging from the words.

It easily caught his attention since she had been so neutral before, and he noted then that she loved her country as much as he loved his. There was no doubt she would be saddened to leave when it was time to return to Troy with him. "You may not think it as suitable as Thebe, but with time, I hope you'll cherish it as well."

Her features relaxed slightly in response to his reassuring words, a hint of kindness from her betrothed who likely came off as a rough, inaccessible soldier. It was almost a truce among them, and her eyes warmed with a restrained pleasure that didn't infiltrate her features. "I trust I will."

After that brief exchange, dinner continued on far better than it had started, and though their conversation never strayed from the proper topics, there was an easiness between them that felt natural. He was able to relax somewhat more, but he still was aggravated with how careful he had to speak his words and choose his tone. He hated court life. Yet again, he longed for the mere village girl that had captured his heart before he was this desired crown prince. They parted when dinner was finished though Hector lingered with her brothers to enjoy more of the wine and better acclimate himself to his soon-to-be family. They were kind, clever, and intelligent enough to amuse him, but the long journey had taken its toll on him. He soon excused himself to find his borrowed quarters and sleep in the warmth of a bed for the night. The feast had filled him, and the wine had eased the soreness in his muscles.

As he walked toward his chambers, he noted a figure down a corridor out of the corner of his eye rushing away from him. Naturally it caught his attention, and he shifted to see who it was. He barely recognized her from the back, but soon her name shot from his lips, "Andromache!" He shouldn't have called his betrothed so casually, but then again she shouldn't have been roaming to corridors so late at night without a chaperone. "Wait!" He half expected her to run form him, but years of discipline were hard to break so easily. She halted abruptly mid-step, tense from her head down to her outstretched foot, and he approached her though she didn't dare turn to face him. The color had fled from her cheeks, and she kept her gaze downcast, unwilling to meet his inquisitive eyes. Somehow words eluded him, and for a time, they simply stood across from one another without exchanging a word. Admittedly he was surprised to see her abandoning her previously perfect manner, and he was intrigued further. There was more to her than he had expected. "What are you doing?" he finally asked.

She swallowed heavily, but she hid all other signs of her unease –like a true princess. She had been taught to be as neutral as he had when faced with difficulty. "I couldn't sleep," she admitted softly. "I did not wish to find a servant… so late." It was a pathetic excuse, and surely she knew it. But he supposed she couldn't outright admit to roaming the palace at night by choice.

"Do you do this often?" he wondered earnestly.

"No," she shot back swiftly, and her eyes darted up to meet his, those warm caramel eyes as fearful as doe. This was something he could use as evidence of her flaws to break off their engagement. For some reason the thought hadn't even occurred to him. "I shouldn't have…" Despite her stoic exterior, her eyes and voice betrayed her anxiety.

As before, he sought to quell it though he wasn't entirely sure why. "I believe you." Her gaze snapped up at him, judging the sincerity of his words, and he peered back without a single emotion to tell otherwise.

"I'm grateful, my lord," she murmured, easily falling back into the flattering role of the princess.

"I'll escort you back to your chambers." So they resumed their distanced, ironically betrothed roles to one another.

"You're too kind." She obviously couldn't deny him and merely bowed her head slightly to show her appreciation.

"It is dangerous to wander at night –even the palace halls," he chided in a manner that he felt was necessary though honestly he could sympathize with her restlessness. Their engagement didn't sit well with him either.

"Yes." It was an obedient tone he should have admired in a future wife.

The silence settled between them once more, and it had become rather obvious by this point in time that their conversation would never drift beyond its borders. Glancing at her, his curiosity surfaced yet again. What inside her was different than this princess? He had caught her in an unsuitable place. He was in a position of power with this information, and suddenly he decided to use his leverage to peek further into her mind. "What keeps sleep from you?" She didn't answer immediately, likely searching her mind for an appropriate answer that wouldn't insult him. He gave her a space of silence to fill, but she couldn't find something quickly enough for him. "I know you can speak," he said a little sharper than he meant to, but he was beyond tired of their measured exchanges.

She stiffened slightly at the tone and made the mistake of locking gazes with him. "The thought of leaving my family and home."

It was what he suspected, but she hadn't voiced it in a manner that he expected. "You will have time with them," he pointed out. "While I am at the border."

"Yes. I know."

He exhaled through his nose, releasing a pent up frustration in his chest. If any could appreciate his plight, surely she could. "I do not wish to take you from your family or your home." Her head snapped in his direction as though this was a suggestion that he would end their engagement. Realizing this, he covered reassuringly, "I will not speak of this to your father… or mine."

Her shoulders sank a little lower, and she cautiously wondered, "Why?"

He smirked cynically. "If your one fault is that you wander through halls when sleep evades you, then I am the more flawed of us." It sounded beneficial for him, but it was ironic considering the price he was paying, exchanging his Myrina for this stranger. Merops' prophecy still lingered in his mind.

She smiled then, a true warm expression and gazed down at her feet as she corrected, "You are kind." This time it was earnest, not polite.

"At times," he said and chuckled under his breath.

After a moment, she pressed carefully, "What are your flaws then, prince?"

"If there is none that you can see, I won't correct you," he quipped.

"I will discover them," she warned as they reached the doors to her quarters. With a bit of courage, she added, "If you have any."

"Too many," he assured her though his eyes were warm gazing down at her. Their first successful conversation coupled with the numerous cups of wine had eased his mood, softening the soldier for the night.

"Thank you… for your silence and your company. Both are appreciated."

His face sobered slightly, and he acknowledged, "It is my duty now." 'To care for you,' his mind finished though he couldn't bring himself to voice that phrase yet. "I hope you'll find sleep, princess."

"You as well, Prince… Hector." She said his name as though she were trying out the feel of it on her tongue. It came off smoothly, naturally, and they both wordlessly recognized that implication. Her head ducked with an unexpected wave of shyness, and she pushed open the door to her chambers, signaling the end of their exchange. It was just as well. There was nothing left to say. Her gaze met his a final time with a tinge of hope to him before she slipped inside and closed the door behind her. He couldn't decipher the complicated feeling coiling within him. Rather, he turned and headed to find his own bed. He hoped sleep would free him from his haunting thoughts.

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The day was particularly sweltering, but she refused to move from the stone bench despite the waves of unhindered sunlight bearing down on her. She was oblivious to the exterior, and ever since she had learned of Hector's engagement, this numbness sheltered her from everything. She wasn't sure how many days had passed, whether she had eaten, where she was, anything. She floated like a phantom through the halls of Dardania, only aware of her own suffering and haunting the living with her soulful eyes.

Aeneas found her easily enough. He always kept an eye out for her whereabouts, and he now lingered in the shade of the corridor, peering out at her and searching for any signs of consciousness. He didn't understand the abrupt shift in her demeanor. Where once she was a fiery, vibrant woman, now that life had been hollowed out from within her, and all that remained was a shell. She no longer fought with him whatsoever, and that admittedly alarmed him the most. With a few measured steps, he approached her, walking loudly enough on the stone so that she could hear him, but she didn't turn or stiffen to acknowledge him. He made it all the way to the bench to sit beside her, and she hadn't moved an inch. He likely could have sat there all afternoon with her, and she would none the wiser to who had joined her. Aeneas didn't have that amount of patience. He would awake her from this stupor somehow.

"Myrina."

As usual, her response lagged behind, and a moment later her head swiveled slowly to face him. Her eyes swept across his familiar features as though he were a complete stranger, and there was nothing behind those eyes. "Yes."

"What troubles you?" He was almost pleading more than inquiring.

"My brother-"

"Fights in Cilicia… Yes, I know." He sighed, growing increasingly aggravated with this usual exchange. "You are not this upset over your brother. Tell me what has happened." Usually he was not so brusque with her, but he couldn't bear to see her like this any longer, not when he felt some semblance of guilt that he was responsible for it. After all, he was keeping her from her family with a lie. Her eyes shifted with a flash, a spark of something, and Aeneas pounced on it without hesitation. "What troubles you? What is it?"

She swallowed heavily, and the possibility of finally releasing her burden was incredibly alluring. Isidora would have understood. Korina would have understood. Alkaios even would have understood, but Aeneas… How would he feel when he discovered it was Hector? No. She couldn't tell him, but staring up into his eyes, they began stripping away the layers of pain and searing deep within her. She hated those eyes. They were perhaps the most godly aspect of his appearance with their mysterious power. All the muscles in her body contracted around her, squeezing out the truth in one painful gasp, "I am in love." With the admission, his face wavered in front of her, and she realized her eyes were filling with tears. She quickly looked away, afraid of revealing something so vulnerable to him.

His brow knit, and his attention fell to the shell necklace still weighing down slender her neck. "The soldier," he recalled without a hint of emotion to his voice. He had forgotten that her affections belonged to another.

"Yes," she whispered, almost choking on the lump burrowing deep in her throat.

"He is in Cilicia," Aeneas guessed, and his tone softened somewhat as the truth finally surfaced. She was silent, but he didn't need a confirmation this time. "And you are concerned for his safety." Still, no response from her, but a small tear fell over the edge of her lid, trailing down her cheek before she clumsily wiped it away. Something so simple shook him to his core, making him turn his gaze away as though he couldn't bear to watch it any longer. He was not accustomed to women crying around him –and not her.

"I will never see him again," she gasped suddenly through a sob and felt the searing in her chest return with a vengeance. The realization so spontaneously hit her that she almost doubled over from the abrupt weight of it. She had lost him. He was gone.

Aeneas' brow knit deeply, and his blue eyes slid over to watch her profile crumbling before his very gaze. Something possessed her that he would never fully understand, but for the time he didn't care about the source of her pain. He only wished to draw her from it, to save her. Without even a moment's thought about his plan of action, his arms locked around her narrow frame, and his lips consumed hers. Her palms immediately flattened against his chest, pushing away at the sculpted muscle, but he held her firmly in place, getting lost in feeling her plump lips pressed against his. Her tears stained his cheeks as well, but he barely noticed and began trailing kisses across her lips, nibbling on the flesh to savor her. The tension in her arms never left, but she somehow didn't have the strength to fight him off. Weeks spent mourning her lost love had left her weaker than ever, and she didn't struggle in his arms. The heat of his mouth gently slid over her own, applying soft pressure, massaging the skin with the skill of a seasoned lover. Despite herself, her eyes closed, and her mouth parted to suck in another breath of air. He took advantage of it, using his lips to open her even more and deepening their kiss until their foreheads were pressing together. His grip around her tightened, flattening her completely against him with her arms wedged between them, but as before, he barely noticed. One hand shifted from between her shoulder blades to cup the base of her neck and applied pressure until there was no room to even breathe between them. Her chest burned, but not as much as her lips still held captive by him. He kissed the corner, trailing up to capture the wet trail of her tears with his mouth and tenderly licked them away. It left her free to breathe, and she clung to each gasp like she had been forced underwater this entire time. She shook in his arms less from the weight of her depression and more from how much she enjoyed his arms around her. She was a traitor. When his mouth returned to hers, she kissed him back fiercely, falling victim to a need she had thought was only meant for one man, but with his kiss she found forgiveness from it all. Her eyes closed, and she remembered the weight of his lips, the roughness of his beard scratching around her mouth and at her cheeks, the taste of his lips, the feeling of his strong arms shielding her away, the pumping between them of their shared heartbeat, the heat of his naked skin… A new wave of tears overwhelmed her just when she thought she was free of them, but even Aeneas couldn't shake the memory of him.

Suddenly her hands pressed against his chest, pushing him away with a renewed sense of strength, but he was too intoxicated with her to realize she had begun fighting back. She groaned against his lips, trying to alert him to her pain, but he only kissed her more fiercely mistaking her groan for approval not distress. The sensation of her sweet lips had awoken a pain inside his groin, yearning for fulfillment and release. He could devour her. She felt the shift in his intention as his kisses grew firmer and rougher, and it only persuaded her to fight him with more vigor. But he was drunk on her. His tongue delved within the heated space, and his body moved impatiently beside her, wishing to tear her clothes from her if he could. So long he had waited for her, and he was painfully longing to enjoy every piece of her. She groaned more forcefully, near a yell, and one hand slipped from between them, freeing her arm so that she could swing back and hit him across the face. The sound resonated through the stone of the courtyard, and his lips left hers immediately. The skin of his cheek was already beginning to redden as he stared at her in shock for such a reaction, and she was visibly quaking in front of him from a mixture of distress, desire, and fear. The slap may as well have doused him in cold water for he was fully awake and aware of what had just occurred. Her lips were red and swollen from his reckless kisses, and it only made her more attractive in his eyes, but his attention steadily recognized the stinging in his face. Somehow the corners of his mouth tugged upward in a sinuous smile. Myrina blanched.

"Your lips are worth a lashing," he murmured dangerously low, near a moan.

The color flooded her cheeks all at once, and she completely abandoned her numb stupor in the wake of his words. "You are…" Her face contorted while she was impotent with her inability to voice her wretched hate. He waited patiently with one eyebrow cocking expectantly in a manner that only irritated her further. He gazed at her with open amusement and pleasure, like he had partaken in the forbidden fruit and was taunting her with his success. She could wring his neck –all the more because she had been swept up in his kiss. Those lips, slender enough not to overpower his face but full enough to make her gaze waver, were far more dangerous than his eyes. In fact, the more he revealed himself to her, the more she recognized the predator seated before her. "…revolting!" she spat when the word surfaced through her hungry haze.

"Call me what you wish," he rejoined, toying with her so easily, stroking her anger and pleased with burst of fury she returned to him. "But I will have you again."

"You'll never touch me," she threatened, but by this time the sickening realization set in that she had lost her power with one kiss. She had submitted to him, and now there was nothing that would hold him back from taking whatever he wished of her. His eyes flashed daringly, and she shuddered deep within. She stumbled uneasily to her feet, and he watched her without losing a single ounce of attention. His smile hinted at his pleasure to see her so flustered. He had dipped beneath her guard, ruffled her feathers, and bore the outline of her slender hand on his cheek as though it were a medal of valor. He intimidated her more than she cared to acknowledge.

His gaze was burning through her like he could see through to her wicked intentions and desires, but suddenly he switched to a more relaxed attitude with a blink of his eyes, abandoning the chase for the afternoon. "Go on then," he said with a chuckle that seemed more cruel than pleasant from her position. "Flee from me… But you cannot hide, Myrina."

Part of her wished to stay and stare him down if only to prove her strength, but he had seen through to her vulnerability and weakness. He knew her caustic words and fiery gaze was all a façade. What now did she have left? 'Your virtue…' Isidora's voice trailed hauntingly through her mind. 'It is the only power we women have.' Gazing into his eyes, she knew he had settled on a target. Without hesitation, she turned on her heel and left the courtyard, caught somewhere between a brisk walk and a run. She was suddenly terrified of the eyes trailing after her.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Sorry for the delay, dolls. I'm the maid of honor in my friend's wedding, and being that it is the last legal form of slavery, I've been running around like a chicken with my head cut off trying to do everything for her. The title of this chapter is Cygnus Olor which means "mute swan" and gives the term "swan song." The idea of course being that the swan is mute its entire life and then sings so beautifully right before it dies. Also, I'm going to be fast-forwarding through time quite a bit in these next few chapters, but I'll be sure to let you know how much time has passed. It'll be a little difficult considering that right now the story is split between Dardania and Cilicia, so be sure to let me know if anything is confusing, and I'll try to clarify this :D

Thank you to KawaiiHawaiian, AmyLNelson, klandgraf2007, and Avatar2009 for the lovely reviews! Adore you ladies!

Kawaii: Well I'm sure your bad feeling about Myrina and Aeneas has been proven correct! Aeneas is a sneaky man… He gets what he wants one way or another and clearly this is just the beginning for him. And of course Hector with Andromache now… We'll see what's going to happen :) Thanks for the ongoing support, gorgeous! xoxo

Amy: Awwww I'm glad you don't hate Aeneas or Andromache! Like you said, they're not trying to wreck Hector and Myrina's relationship. They're just doing their thing. Aeneas still has no idea he's boning after his best friend's girl, and Andromache and Hector… they're a little more awkward haha. But hopefully you liked how Andromache's character turned out. Thanks for the review, and I hope you liked this chapter! :D

klandgraf: I sent you a PM again, but I wanted to acknowledge you here as well! :)

Avatar: Hey stranger! Long time, no see :) We all get busy, so no worries. I'm glad you liked how everything turned out, and I'm sure the twist came as a surprise! :) Poor Myrina, right? What a way to find out that this guy you're head over heels in love with and want to spend the rest of your life with is not only gone away at war, but is betrothed to a princess. Pretty shitty, but it does make for good drama. And clearly it's only going to help Aeneas. Sigh. We'll see what happens, and hopefully you enjoyed this chapter! xoxo


	34. Break the Chain

Chapter 33  
"Break the Chain"

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Recommended Songs: "Panic Switch", "The Royal We" – Silversun Pickups & "Is There a Ghost" – Band of Horses

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**Three Months Later**

A stray rock slipped from the edge and crackled in its descent down the steep stone cliff. All the men stiffened expectantly, praying without a word that their movements had not been heard, and a few accusing glares were thrown at the clumsy soldier who had momentarily lost his footing. At the front of the line, Hector paid no mind to the man. Rather his attention was directed forward toward the silent camp they were approaching, and he crept closer with barely a sound to the very edge of the rocks where he could peer over to the enemy's barracks.

Evander, the eldest of Andromache's brothers, was to his left, and he bent nearer to whisper, "Safe?" Any more noise was dangerous now that they were so close, but he granted Evander a curt nod. The Cilician then signaled to the rest of the troops that they would continue onward as planned. The full moon overhead illuminated the earth in an eerily pale, milky blue glow as though they were stalking through a distorted version of the day. Under the shadow of darkness, the predators lurked and grew bold, and the Trojans and Cilicians were no exception. It was a dangerous plan to sneak up this old goat path from the river through a more mountainous terrain, but it was a weak point in the Hittites' camps. A quick attack could injure them enough –perhaps not for victory but surely enough to make them retreat a little farther east. That was the desired outcome, but it was such a delicate plan that even the pathetic ramblings of a stray rock could destroy it all in seconds. A few feet away was a large boulder nestled into the rock of the upland, and his chestnut eyes settled on it, swiftly calculating whether he could make it there without giving up their presence. It was difficult to have a clear view of the encampments due to the positioning of the rock wall hiding them, and he needed his sight above everything else. His helmet was missing from his head for that reason, and the curls shifted across his damp brow in a soft breeze. He cautiously allowed his head to dip further out from behind the rock, and his breath caught in his throat as he saw a guard approaching. He tucked back away behind the cover of the natural wall, keeping one eye attached to the guard for good measure. Oblivious to the unwarranted company, the guard paused before a tree with his back conveniently turned toward Hector and shifted his armor around to relieve himself.

It was a golden opportunity that the prince couldn't possibly ignore, and his body moved long before his mind even registered the plan as though he were acting on pure instinct. His sandals didn't make a sound on the intermittent grass and rock, his knees were bent to absorb the shock of every step, his muscles coiled tightly beneath his armor, and his eyes didn't stray from his target. He was the hunter, and this man never had a chance. In one flawless motion, his left hand covered the soldier's mouth to muffle the scream, his right hand held his dagger and sliced horizontally, perfectly slashing open his throat, and his elbow bent barely a second later to bury the blade on the side of his neck angled down toward his chest. The kill was complete, and his body fell limp without any further fight. Evander was at Hector's side, helping him bear the dead weight and slowly lowering the soldier to the ground so that it wouldn't make a sound. They crouched next to the first casualty, peering deep into the darkness now lit by occasional flames and assessing their next move. The longer they could remain as shadows shifting through the camp, the better their chances of survival. They permanently silenced one guard, but there were an untold more out of their sight. Though most soldiers were asleep inside their tents, a few men had fallen victim to the wine and were passed out around a nearby smoldering fire. Hector motioned toward the group with a meaningful look, and Evander nodded in agreement. Take out as many as they could now. More soldiers followed this time, their bronze chest plates gleaming in the waning light, and all eyes were searching for another guard who could betray their movement. The drunken soldiers were quickly disposed of, and a torch dipped in oil was lit with the embers of the forgotten fire.

Tonight Hades would devour these camps. Instinctively his attention fell to the tarnished golden pin at his waist. Despite the turn of fate, he always wore it less out of habit and more as a last pledge. Should he die, some part of her would be there with him –at the end.

* * *

For months a battle of its own had been waging within the palace walls of Dardania. The vacuum of space left within her after Hector's betrayal pulled at her surroundings, trying to grasp onto something to feed it and fill it, but as a stranger in these lands, she could find nothing to ground her. There was no hand to hold, no comforting embrace, no kind words. Just the gravity of his eyes, drawing her in piece by piece even though she tried to fight it. Whatever beast had flashed its teeth months ago was tucked neatly away, and his charm returned tenfold. She hated the way his grand words swelled up in the room, how staring into his eyes could numb the pain like venom to her wounds, but mostly she hated that each time she glanced at his lips, she could remember the way they seared her hotly covering hers and penetrating her like a foreshadowing of what was to come. And some sick, vile, twisted piece of her wanted it. For years she had given Hector everything: her loyalty, her friendship, her love, her body, her future… But it was a gamble she had lost. She still felt like she was his. Like even in his absence she was possessed by him. Scorned but a masochist wanting more. Then there was Aeneas who was wearing her down day by day, and they both knew it. The more and more she considered the possibility of surrendering, the less she saw it as a failure. It could be a victory –to break the chain, to abandon everything, and to reclaim her body in an act that should for every reason defile it.

Her eyes slid over to Aeneas who was seated beside her at dinner as usual. It had become a sort of ritual like he was presenting his prize every night to his courtiers, friends, and family. No matter how well she was accepted among their ranks, she couldn't help wondering was this the toll of her liberation? 'My sacrifice for your pride,' she mused wordlessly, and feeling her gaze he turned to meet it. He smiled kindly, probably pleased to catch her looking at him without fire in her eyes, but she didn't mirror the display. She was caught up in the blue pools, trying to see through to something true. Months spent with this prince, and yet she was not even sure who he was. A trickster. An infamous wooer of women. A merciless soldier. A demi-god. So many titles, but they were each a mask. She wanted to understand the man underneath no matter how much his true nature terrified her, but he was so alluring like the first sip of water after a day in the sun.

His obvious attraction and desire for her contrasted starkly with her adamant decision to loathe him for all eternity, but he knew there was more than that. She had returned his kiss if only briefly, but the passion and need lining her lips drove away any certainty he had about her platonic feelings toward him. Now he observed her and was met with the same stoic expression she wore each day, but he wasn't fooled. He had never wanted to tame her. He wanted to unleash that tempest within and let her tear at him in any way she saw fit. In the midst, he would find her lips again and… The fantasy seduced him too many nights, but the woman of his imagination could never live up to the reality seated beside him. Those sea blue eyes burning. It made his abdomen tighten with a deep-seated want.

She was sure she knew how to remove the cloak shrouding him. 'Would you be gentle?' Her heart skipped a beat as she realized how sincerely she was considering this. Immediately she turned away to stare at the bronze plate of unfinished food in front of her. She wasn't surprised when she felt him shift closer to her, bending his neck so that his mouth was on level with her ear. He always chased after her. He deeply inhaled her scent before murmuring, "What are you thinking, Myrina?"

He loved to say her name almost as much as she loved to hear it fall from his tongue. The dewy, warm breath tickled her neck and ear, and a wave of goosebumps sprung up all over her skin. To her annoyance, her body shivered slightly from the pleasant chill crawling down her spine. She hated showing that he had any effect on her, and in a burst of brazen courage, she turned to face him pretending that their proximity almost brushing noses didn't bother her in the least. But so close they shared the same air, and she could feel the heat trailing across her skin. It reminded her of how his mouth felt on hers. She saw herself reaching for his lips, meeting that soft flesh, savoring that heat, tasting him… She held her breath until it burned in her lungs, trying to simultaneously punish and stop herself from making her thoughts a reality. She inspected his pale blue eyes lined with silver. They were so omniscient that she felt transparent before them like they presented all her secret desires on platter for their owner to view. Without answering, she turned from him to break the connection and tried to snuff the flame growing within her.

* * *

Fire and oil were a potent combination and attacked the tents with a force that cost them no strength or men. They unleashed the element onto the campsite soon after disposing of what men they could. Ares had given them a swift assault, and Artemis shrouded them from others' sight. It was the perfect execution, and now the Cilician and Trojan forces lined at the summit of the goat path where they could duck behind the rock wall if the fire grew too large. It was an offensive attack inspired by the guerilla tactics of the mob, and as Hector watched the tents blazing through the darkness, heard the screams of agony from the men inside, and watched the soldiers slowly burst into action, caught between dousing the fires or attacking the intruders, he thought back to that night when the Trojans had lost many villagers. The breeze lifted the distinct smell of burning flesh upon the air and toward the Trojan prince. With his adrenaline pumping through his veins, his breath was more drawn and swifter so that he gulped down a mouthful of that vile stench. It made his stomach turn, but the only outward sign of his disgust was a deeper crease in his brow.

'The glory of war,' his mind mocked, reminding him of the ignorance of his youth. He felt decades away from that young man. How many souls had he condemned to Hades? How many times had he scathed past death, stealing away another chance at life? His sword was the key to the Underworld, and Thanatos acted through his hands. Tonight he was Death, but was there a man out there who could spare him from living out the fate of the Crown Prince of Troy? 'You do not yet command the army,' reason plagued him. He nearly growled under his breath and cursed Merops for ever damning him with that prophecy. He drew his shield from his back and slipped his forearm into the taut leather straps, feeling simultaneously doomed and invincible. His sword was unsheathed next, and the weight of the bronze blade felt natural in his hand as he gripped the leather wrapped over the hilt. Around him, the men took this as a cue to prepare for battle as well, but Evander was struck by the intensity of Hector's profile etched out against the darkness. The flames danced in his black eyes, mirroring the destruction of the camps like it was feeding him. Something dark hung around him that was more sinister than the weight of night. For the first time, he acknowledged the warrior inside his future brother-in-law, and it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as though he were faced with Thanatos himself, terrible and voracious. He was glad to be beside him and not facing him.

Without a call to release his troops, Hector took the first step further into the campgrounds, embracing the heat of the flames licking at the tents, and the line of Trojans and Cilicians followed their leader. Fire illuminated the scene, and he searched through the debris for the first man to see Styx. A Hittite man was half dressed exposing his dark skin without a shirt and rushed through the camps to aid his comrades when he noticed the Trojan Prince stalking through the grounds. Their eyes locked over the flames engulfing a tent, and the fury on the foreigner's face somehow fueled his own wrath. The Hittite rushed at him with an animalistic battle cry in a tongue Hector couldn't decipher, but even the language barrier didn't distort the meaning: Hector was a dead man in this soldier's eyes. "Arrogant fool," he cursed under his breath, barely sparing the attention to face him. The Hittite raised his scimitar overhead to attack, but Hector was faster. Dropping his shoulder and angling his arm up, he shielded his body and caught the blow meant to split his head. Methodically, he threw the soldier back a pace and thrust forward with his blade, slicing cleanly through the man's abdomen and killing him in one breath. He withdrew his sword, watched the man's lifeless body crumble to the ground, and felt nothing. Another offering to Hades.

By this time, a line of defense had formed further into the camps, and the men were sprinting through the tents to meet the soldiers destroying their barracks. Some other Hittite had his sights set on the Trojan who walked fearlessly through the grounds and charged at him as rashly. He saw the gates of Hades in Hector's eyes but rushed forward even swifter, sensing the importance of his position despite the absence of his helmet crowned with a royal blue plume. Their blades met in the middle with a clash of bronze that ricocheted through the camp grounds as other soldiers faced off in battle. Hittites were fierce, almost barbaric like the Thracian tribes, with a bloodlust that was innately ingrained in every warrior as though they were the bastard children of Ares himself. The whites of his eyes flashed in comparison to his darker skin tone, and a golden ring hung from his nose above his thick beard where his mouth was open in a call. The Hittites yelled like they were announcing their kills, but Hector knew he would not be among the fallen this night. There were still many years for him to battle, to end lives, to suffer himself... The Fates had made sure of that. Their blades parted only to engage again, slicing through the air so swiftly that they hissed. Hector caught the curved blade before it could cut across his gut, threw off the piece, and swung across the man's chest to disable him. The red blood poured thickly out of the deep wound, and with another swing of his arm, the Hittite's throat was slashed.

Without hesitation, the prince turned to face his next victim.

* * *

Every step toward her chambers increased the tempo of her heartbeat until it was thundering in her ears like a war drum marking out the path to her final battle. Aeneas didn't attempt to engage her in small talk like he usually did, and it was a hint at his awareness of her plan like he could see past her eyes and into her very mind. She hated that. It caused her to wonder if she ever had a choice in the matter -like this had all been some larger plot of his own creation. Like she was a powerless pawn. Her anger flared at the thought, but it was absorbed by her lust, only fueling the expectant pulsing between her thighs. They passed by the now familiar courtyard illuminated by the torches lining the halls and moonlight overhead. It threw a milky glow down upon the mismatched cream stone that shone more powerfully than the beauty of its vegetation. In the night the dashing colors all faded away into the shadows, and amidst it all her eyes fell on the statue of Aphrodite cutting through the darkness in all her divine strength and beauty. Was this Myrina's adversary who acted through her human son?

"Your mother is toying with me." The words slipped from her lips before she even realized she had voiced the thought aloud.

Aeneas smiled knowingly and followed her attention to the statue in the courtyard. They unintentionally stilled between two columns, and he admitted, "I often feel that way."

She frowned, too annoyed and lusty to be ashamed of her momentary bluntness. "You've been blessed."

"Often those who are blessed…" He paused briefly and stared at her profile. She pointedly wouldn't meet his gaze, but it only made him stare more boldly. "…are truly cursed."

"You are cursed to be both a prince and the son of a goddess," she countered sarcastically.

The flash of her temper enticed him for an inexplicable reason, and he leaned nearer to her and commented, "She is taunting me with you."

Before them, Aphrodite stared with an unwavering gaze. In the moonlight, there was something celestial and immaculate yet bizarrely realistic about her presence as though she might step down from her citadel to join their conversation. The lining between the divine and human was but a thin, gauzy veil inside the courtyard. She felt she could reach out and penetrate it with a single touch; that she could dip even the tip of her finger into the heavens and literally reach ultimate satisfaction. The paradox was too overwhelming for her delicate state, and she tore her gaze away from that to meet Aeneas'. It was a mistake. The gravity set in, pulling her closer, and she swore her body drew forward the slightest bit. She scrounged together the tattered remains of her courage; but her mouth was so dry that it was difficult to speak, and her hands were shaking at her sides. Surprisingly, her voice was strong through it all. "You are taunting yourself."

The magnetism between them tugged at every cell of him until it was more painful enduring the stance not to touch her. Why did he ever fight his desire for her? He couldn't restrain himself anymore, and he bent to capture those lips. There was a moment where she froze and monitored his approach, wanting to rush forward and meet him halfway, but the strength of that desire washing through her terrified her more than his lips or his eyes ever could. She stepped through the threshold, fleeing from him into the very space where his mother reigned supreme. In the center, the sole tree sprouted up uninterrupted, and random lanterns hung from the branches, swaying in the wind with their flames flickering in the distance like gems sparkling in the night. The sweet, exotic floral smell was lifted on the warm breeze sweeping across her skin. It was the first touch to soothe her in weeks. Nature's tenderness strummed at the tension knotting each muscle beneath her skin, smoothing out the ripples of pain and reminding her of her desire to be impenetrable. A smooth pool of water, uninterrupted and at peace. Such a level of serenity was more seductive than grieving, but it felt impossible. Behind her, Aeneas approached as a silent offering –perhaps more a gift from Aphrodite than a curse. Myrina knew her desire was solely situated on one man, and the thought of ever being with another shook her to core. It was more than betrayal. It was abandoning her conviction in ever escaping the fate of a fisherman's daughter. She turned to face Aeneas, unwilling to let him catch her unaware this time, and as she stared at him, warm chestnut returned her look. Familiar eyes saturated with love and passion. Her gaze trembled along with her lower lip, fading the lines of Aeneas' features and replacing them with his, etching from years of memories. The unruly crown of curls, pale scar cutting through his eyebrow, trademark smirk nestled within his dark beard, broad shoulders leading to sculpted arms, shirt nipped at his narrow waist, long legs. He stole her breath.

Aeneas had precipitated her unraveling by telling her of Hector's betrayal, and now she would give him the only thing she had left; she would surrender completely to him with the hope that in her abandonment she might somehow find a greater understanding of her power. Independence through submission. It was twisted logic. A shot in the dark. A last revolt. And she felt like her life depended on it. She swallowed heavily, but it offered no relief to her parched throat. Her stomach turned within her, reminding her of his true nature beneath her mind's indulgent guise, and she winced against that discomfort. Every fiber of her being was rebelling against her mind, and the aching in her heart was spreading steadily to poison her conviction. She was surprised that she could still feel the pain as fresh as the first time; but she held him long after they were through, and the memory resonated like an echo through her entire body. Surrendering wouldn't be easy.

Aeneas approached her slowly to savor this moment for the time he could. He wouldn't be able to control himself soon though he would try for her. It was more than he offered most women. His mind spun with all the ways and places he wanted to touch and kiss her. He wanted to be slow and take his time in tasting her like he was sampling a fine wine, but he had spent months craving her. And he eyed her now as though he were a man stumbling upon an oasis in the desert. He would engulf her completely until he could take no more, but where to begin? His gaze fell on the gentle crook of her neck, an innocent sinewy curve that was so feminine and alluring. His cheek grazed her curls as he bent forward to place a gentle kiss on her skin and was granted a stronger dose of her scent to intoxicate him. She closed her eyes at the contact, trying to pretend that his lips didn't feel soft and plush, but her body couldn't lie. The cold chills returned, crowding across her skin, and she blushed as she felt the sensation reach her breasts and cause the buds to harden under the white material. With her gaze directed coyly downward, she could make out the protrusion through the dress, but rather than shame, she thought of the way his beard had scratched at her breasts, teasing her with the roughness in contrast to his lips. Aeneas felt the shivering of her skin under his touch, and it only stirred him more, noting how sensitive she was to him. She was untarnished by another so that his every breath and motion and touch garnered him a response no matter how subtle. It made the moment that much more vivid for him like he could experience it with fresh eyes with her, and she stiffened as he unclasped the pin at her shoulder, letting the material fall from around her. She winced as the pin clattered on the stone, but she was mesmerized by the memory of his hands peeling away layer after layer to uncover her. No matter what he stripped from her, he always sheltered her, driving away the chill of night with the scorching heat of his naked skin. He had marked her for eternity, and she wouldn't soon forget how it felt to be loved by him.

* * *

He was delving further into the camps than he should have, but he was drunk on the apathy battle brought his mind. He was able to disconnect his thoughts from his movements and act on pure instinct as he cut through the crowds of Hittite soldiers. It was a lesson his first battle had warned him against, but he needed the forgiveness of not feeling if only for these fleeting moments. It was the sole peace he received in these last months. A pain in his right shoulder seared through to his consciousness, and after disposing of another soldier, he turned on his heel to face the man who had attacked him from behind in time to see a Trojan impale him on a spear straight through his chest. The man thrashed in his last moments, wheezing for air; but the fight against death was soon finished, and the soldier placed his foot on the man's back for leverage as he released the spear.

"You're injured, my lord," he commented with concern in his voice.

The tip of the man's blade had slipped past the side of his chest plate to cut the back of his shoulder. It was difficult to see the extent of the wound in the dim lighting as well as its position on his body, but Hector was never one to complain. As a soldier he was taught to be immune to pain and discomfort –at least while the battle raged on. "A flesh wound," he lied though he already discarded his shield and shifted the weight of his blade into his left hand. It was too much for the muscles to lift the bronze piece and move it accurately and continuing to use his preferred arm would encourage the cut to bleed more. He had never trained with his left hand, but he felt strangely indomitable nonetheless, almost reckless. No doubt another effect of Merops' prophecy.

"Keep back, and I will protect you," the Trojan offered without hesitation, but Hector merely smirked at the proposal. He would never flee from battle for such a wound. After all, he was promised peace in death. There was nothing to fear in his mind.

"I won't step aside, and let you take my glory," he quipped good-naturedly as though he weren't bleeding from the incision in his shoulder and unable to bear the weight of his sword. The soldier blanched, caught between protecting his liege and obeying his orders, but they had no time to argue the matter further for another wave of Hittites were charging through the debris to face them. Without pause, Hector rushed forward to meet them, testing the weight of his blade in his left hand as he ran and trying to calculate the proper way to maneuver. It was still foreign to his body leading with his left side, and he strained to ignore the inconvenience as he met his next opponent. The Trojan kept pace with Hector, but it was more easily managed now that the prince was fighting with his left arm. He was clumsier, slower, and weaker, but side by side the Hittites couldn't overpower them. They had wedged their way into the narrow space between two tents, forcing the Hittite soldiers to funnel in between if they wished to fight the pair. It was a strategy they had stumbled upon by good luck, and it kept the soldiers back for the time being. Hector worried about when they would circle around to the other side and trap them. It was a very realistic possibility, and he soon realized their power of surprise was waning. The Hittites would be fully guarded in a matter of time, and he barked out gruffly, "Fall back. To the path. We'll retreat."

The soldier was too preoccupied by a Hittite to answer immediately, but after cutting open the man's leg, he fell back to let another take his place. The soldier took the opportunity to counter, "After you, my lord."

"You first." Hector wouldn't let one of his men die needlessly for him, and he truly believed he would escape this somehow since his fate remained unsealed tonight.

"You lead. I'll follow."

The prince growled under his breath, frustrated by his lack of skill with fighting left-handed but more annoyed by the soldier who wouldn't obey his command. "You will fall back. That is an order!" Rather than blatantly retorting, the soldier kept his place directly beside his prince and continued battle without pause. Hector briefly felt like turning his blade on the man. "If we survive this night, I'll have you killed myself," he warned irritably, grabbing the man's arm and pulling him back with every step Hector took.

The soldier chuckled to Hector's surprise, and the prince wondered if he weren't mad. "It would be an honor, my prince." Somehow the words seemed more sarcastic than earnest, and Hector felt his conviction in his promise growing substantially. He wouldn't be mocked by one of his men -and certainly not for trying to spare the fool's life!

They slipped away from the tents and weaved between the debris to avoid the Hittites on their heels. Their battle cries lifted unto the breeze and made them seem far closer than they were. They ran through the abandoned camp, and Hector yelled out to be heard over the Hittites, "Fall back!" Some of their men were strewn on the ground, already victims of Thanatos, but others followed the prince and the soldier back toward the path. They rushed toward the narrow cliff, prepared to throw themselves down the summit and toward the basin. Behind them, the final defense was made as a soldier lit the line of oil in the grass at the edge of the camps that would protect their retreat and hold back the Hittites for a brief time. It was all they would need to reach the river and then Thebe. At the bottom, they paused to count their numbers when they were certain the Hittites had not followed. Mainly Hector wanted to be sure Evander was among them, but he noticed even sooner that the soldier was still at his side.

Once he was certain the Cilician prince was uninjured, he found his way back to the man and asked, "What is your name, Trojan? ...I'll need to know who to call for the execution."

The man shifted uncertainly for a moment as if trying to gauge his liege's sincerity. After a brief paused, he revealed, "Alkaios, son of Diokles."

* * *

The cold stone cut into her naked back, but there had been no time or patience for those sorts of comforts. Time had slipped past swiftly until she couldn't properly remember how he had torn her dress away from her shoulders or lain her on the courtyard floor beneath the tree's canopy. His mouth was marking a path down the valley between her breasts to the last barrier keeping his hardened shaft from her. He was rushed in his descent, too impatient to enjoy the sight of her breasts perfectly white in the pale light or her fingers curling in like a tulip's petals on either side of her head where she was completely submissive but somehow disengaged. For him, the essence of her beauty, her womanhood, her allure rested between her thighs, and he was prepared to rip the remainder of her dress from her to reach it. Her gaze was on the lanterns swinging from the tree's branches. It was as lovely as she had imagined it would be, and the way they danced in the night reminded her of how all the candles in his chambers had flickered with the breeze. His tan skin had glistened in that golden glow, and she wished she could be a bead of sweat slipping provocatively down his spine. The muscles wrapped around him, one over the other, to flex and contour fluidly against the unyielding lines of his bones. The angle of his shoulder blades knitted together and dimples punctuated the long length of his spine... She remembered circling her legs around his waist to hold him against her, his weight bearing down on her, his musky scent drugging her. She licked her dry lips at the thought of his length embedded between her inner thighs and cutting through her again and again and again. When his chest fit between her thighs and pressed against her swollen core through her dress, the feeling was magnified tenfold, and she threw her head back with a loud moan, rocking her hips up to rub against those muscles sculpted like stone. The memory of her night with Hector had her so alive and on fire, she could have found release simply by moving her hips against him, but he soon lifted away from her for a better handle on her dress settling over her hips and around her waist.

His hands were shaking as he tore and pulled at the fabric, but it wouldn't budge quickly enough for him. Soon he abandoned that plan and simply pushed it up farther until he could fit his hips inside her thighs, and he shuddered like a bolt of lightning tore through him when felt the tip of his shaft brush against her moist curls. The heat between her legs nearly scorched him, and he had never wanted someone so badly in his life. She had him shifting, melting, blazing like gasoline torched, but no matter if it burned him into dust, he wanted to bury himself inside her as deep as he could go. He didn't consider her virginity or her pain or her for that matter. He was blinded by desire, and the true Aeneas was revealed, more human than divine, recklessly unleashed by one woman. There was a surprising moment of clarity cutting through his lusty haze when he settled himself over her once more and was in line with her face. Those eyes now unfocused and staring blankly above.

"Myrina..." he groaned out hoarsely. It was the only warning he could muster because his hips were already pushing forward, and he held his breath trying to prepare himself for how she would feel.

Her eyes flickered toward him, settling on his face, and all at once she was thrust back into the moment. Her memory had overwhelmed her, and her feelings for another man had completely numbed her to even the awareness of who was poised on top of her. It was not so much that she felt surprised as she simply felt unprepared. In a flash, her hands sprung into action and reached between them to catch his hips, and she writhed in his arms, trying to move out of his way. But he had her pinned with his weight and his arms on either side of her. "Stop!" she choked out in a manner that was all too familiar. Hector she had wanted, but Aeneas- "No!" His desire was pumping so heavily within him that he didn't even register her protests, but beyond even consciousness, his body recoiled and halted with the tip dipped just between her lips. "I can't," she sputtered anxiously, and with the admission came a new wave of revulsion as she recognized what was between her legs. Her hands pushed more firmly at his hips, but the rest of her body had stilled for fear that any movement might coax him in deeper. "I can't." She was foolish to think she had anything left to give another. Hector may not have physically taken her that night, but he possessed her completely through her skin, her heart, her soul. She could never be with another, and a weight throbbed behind her eyes as she realized even in trying to give herself to Aeneas, she couldn't be without Hector. Her voice cracked as she repeated, "I can't."

He watched the tears building in her eyes, this beautiful disaster unfolding in front of him, but for the life of him, he couldn't completely draw away from her. He was given a taste, and he focused on the wet folds cradling him, the heat of her core, the supple thighs cupping him into place. He swallowed heavily, trying to gulp the cold air into his lungs to cool his fiery need, but he was teasing himself with his position. Still he couldn't find the will to abandon her. This was his only chance, and she was denying him -again. Taunting him -again. He wouldn't surrender and tenderly kissed every inch of her lips to soothe her. "Don't be afraid." Reasoning had fled him, and he continued, "Let me take away this hurt."

"No." Her hands remained in place, elbows locked to be certain he wouldn't move beyond a certain point, but she could feel the power of the muscles coiled on top of her. Like Hector, he could easily take what he wanted, and although he had frightened her once with his dominance, Hector had never forced himself upon her when she didn't desire it. She feared the same couldn't be said of Aeneas.

"It will barely pain you. You shouldn't fear." His lips met her eyebrow and temple, still trying to charm his way between her thighs. His muscles were beginning to quiver from holding his body at such an angle, and he relaxed slightly, pushing more of his weight against her hands.

"No! I can't-" He pulled away to look her in the eye, and she tried her best not to falter when she was met with the ice cold stare. "-not with you."

The admission made him snap jealously, and he pushed his weight back onto his knees, grabbing her wrists between his hands and pinning them on either side of her head when he shifted forward again. The movement was swift and flawless, and she only had time to clumsily angle her knees in to catch him. But he simply needed to place more of his weight on her, and her hold would slip. There was the anger she had only glimpsed before, but now she had to face it. Her arms tensed defensively, but she knew she couldn't fight him off. "Who are you saving yourself for?" he spat out. "Where is this soldier now? What has he done for you!" His gaze fell to the shell necklace on her collarbones a marker of the other man's possession of her, and without hesitation, one of his hands roughly curled around it and tore it from her neck. The shells scattered across the stone with a delicate succession of clinks. The twine unravelled from around her neck as well, and she was too stunned by his brash action to properly take advantage of her one free hand. When she didn't answer him, his frustration grew. "You've dangled your affections in front of me for months, but you deny my love! You've made a fool of me!"

"No," she exhaled numbly, fearing the crescendo of his fury that was approaching. Her knees trembled where they were bearing his weight and digging into his abdomen. Her last hold on him was slipping. "I love him," she whispered more pleading than anything.

"Who?" he growled once more, his rage longing for a target. Her lips shivered but didn't part to reveal his name. "I swear I'll kill him myself..." She barely shook her head, but Aeneas would not take her disobedience any longer. "Tell me!" he snapped so viciously that she visibly winced from his sharp tone.

He loomed over her with an unyielding force, and she knew he wouldn't let her go this time. Her hand had gone numb from his grip on her wrist, and he subconsciously tightened his hold, his whole body compressing as though to lash out at her if she kept her silence. At the end of her rope, she was suddenly overwhelmed by exhaustion. She was so tired of fighting like she had spent her life at war, and she revealed his name in bitter surrender, "Hector." A tear slipped from the corner of her eye and buried into her hair. It was the unleashing of it all, and they came one after the other silently but swiftly.

The name struck him with how casually and easily she said it, and he accused, "You lie!" But even as he said the words, memories unfolded before his eyes of his time healing at the village years ago -of his conversation with his cousin. _'I would be cautious'...'Why is that?'...'Because if I were him, I would not let her go so easily.'_ The response hadn't appeared odd to him, but he had never suspected his cousin, his loyal friend, one of the best men he knew to lie to him to his face! And her reaction that night when he told his father of Hector's betrothal, her grieving all these months... It resonated too honestly with him, and his stomach turned as he considered what an idiot he had been chasing after this woman. Had Hector laughed at him! His eyes focused back in on her face now stained with tears, but he was immune to the display. His gaze narrowed, and he pressed, "How?" This time she couldn't speak through the lump in her throat, and he shook her roughly to rattle the answer out of her.

"We met when I was young," she finally croaked out. "He would visit me."

A million thoughts swarmed his head, but there was one that weighed down on him more heavily than the rest. "He will marry her."

Her eyes closed, forcing out a few more tears, and she admitted, "I know."

"And yet you choose him."

He had captured her when she was so young, so naive, so innocent that now she was beginning to realize she never had a choice. Still, she answered, "Yes." A thousand tiny pins pricked at her hand as the blood flowed back into it, and her fingers moved subconsciously to encourage the return. Realizing he had released her, she briefly wondered if she had ever been loved by a single hand that had touched her throughout her life.

Sitting back on his heels, his gaze trailed over body partly bare before his eyes, and he considered whether her virtue had been an act as well. The way she fought him off suggested otherwise, and he bowed his head slightly as he acknowledged his cousin was the only man capable of leaving such a woman untouched. It was a further confirmation, another abasement for Aeneas, and he partly wished to force himself on her out of spite and ego and anger. To dishonor Hector the only way he could because he knew he could never fight or kill his cousin. But this woman... He wanted to kill her if only to rid himself of the humiliation. Yet he couldn't. A sickening taste lingered on his tongue from words unspoken. He cared about her whether it was a ploy from his mother or merely his human part wishing to be grounded, and the two sides were at odds. One wished to conquer her while the other wanted to love her. He had jockeyed between the two positions without truly meaning to, and he knew he could have played his hand more skillfully. With her, he was clumsy sometimes and too eager to follow any strategy. Still he thought he only needed time to control himself and win her over. Evidently nothing could steal her affections away from _him_.

He stood up in a fluid motion, revealing his naked body shamelessly, and her eyes followed his though she remained on the ground, stunned and drained. His handsome features were carved out of stone, and the void in his eyes chilled her to the bone. As usual, his tongue remained sharp, but there was no playful smirk to soften his cut, "Hector can keep his whore." He waited long enough to see her eyes close and know his remark had landed. He had to hurt her, but his tongue was the only tool he would allow. Without another word, he turned on his heel and left her to drown his frustrations in wine and with the company of two women in his bed.

In the morning, he sent her away.

* * *

**Seven Months Later**

The Hittites had finally abandoned their position at the borders, and there were rumors that a collapse within the government and capital were partly to blame. Whatever the true cause, Hector was relieved to be through of this business so that he could return to Troy. Unfortunately, there were still affairs to be handled in Thebe before he would see his city walls. The welcome the troops received this time was grander and more ornate than the first. Throngs of Cilicians lined the streets of the city and celebrated their free borders. Hector rode with Andromache's brothers, appearing more like their own each day that their friendship and bonds grew. He was proud to be among them but even more pleased to be unofficially named as the hero of this war by the men and women applauding them. He felt no need to be singled out or recognized, but it was flattering nonetheless. A feast would be held that night in the dining hall of the palace at Thebe, and his wedding was to follow a few days later. There was no more time to waste. Eetion had not traveled to the border with his army since he had seven strong sons to lead his men, and it gave Hector no opportunity to speak with the king before now.

Andromache granted him an unrestrained, bright smile when she saw him enter through the palace gates with her brothers. Months of absence had perhaps made her fonder of her future husband and the notion of their marriage, and Hector had chosen his path, to whatever fate that would lead him. On this occasion, he followed his instincts for they had never led him astray in his years at battle, and he could no longer rely on his mind or heart for guidance. Both were too biased and at ends for him to reach a conclusion. He smiled kindly at his bride and postponed their conversation in lieu of speaking with Eetion. He needed a confirmation and an agreement before he could see Andromache.

A content smiled was displayed from corner to corner of Eetion's mouth, and it only grew as he saw Hector striding toward him. "Prince Hector... Before we met, I had only heard of your skill in battle. My sons tell me your quick wit, leadership, and ability with a blade drove the Hittites away sooner than they could have on their own."

"I'm honored they speak so highly of me, but they have overlooked their own contributions. You have them to credit with your safe borders, my lord."

"Allied Thebe and Troy have proven a worthy adversary, and I am grateful that together we saved my country." He clapped Hector on the shoulder affectionately with his dark eyes warming. "Tonight we will celebrate our free lands, our alliance, and the upcoming nuptials. In the wake of war, I have never seen happier times."

"There is reason to celebrate," Hector agreed, but his face was drawn even as he spoke the words. "But first, I must speak with you privately before the feast this evening."

Eetion's eyebrow twitched in a manner that was more intuitive than he wished to admit. He maintained his jovial outlook and promised, "There is time! But I must see my sons now."

"It cannot wait." His tone offered no room for disagreement even if it were rude to address a king so brazenly, but time was of the essence.

The king drew in a breath, finally letting his smile fall as recognized the seriousness of whatever this conversation held. "Very well," he conceded and guided the prince toward a nearby balcony where they could look out over the sea toward the Gulf. It reminded him somewhat of the view from his room, and it made him long for home even more. Eetion took a seat and motioned for Hector to sit as well, but the latter remained standing. He felt more powerful, more in control on his feet, and Eetion wondered, "What is so important, Prince Hector?"

"In my months at the border, I have come to know and greatly respect your sons. I came to these lands as a stranger but was welcomed as a familiar. For that, I cannot express my humble appreciation." He paused to allow his words the time to sift through the space between them before he continued, "Your actions and those of your sons have shown me that an alliance between Troy and Thebe does not hinge on a marriage." Seeing the immediate reaction, he pressed on swiftly before Eetion could interrupt him, "I have spent my life serving Troy and striving to bring my country and my family honor. My father could not have found a better match in your daughter, Princess Andromache. She would make a valuable wife, and Troy would welcome her as their princess as warmly as you have welcomed me as your son. But I cannot in good faith consent to this marriage... because I am not a worthy match for your daughter."

"How can-"

Hector held up a hand, wordlessly asking to continue uninterrupted. Eetion's face was pale, and his lips pressed in a thin line to hold back the words. For once, Hector was certain he was doing the right thing. It had never been more clear to him. "I respect you, your sons, and your daughter, and it is out of respect that I speak truthfully. I cannot care for the princess as a husband should because my intentions and my affections will always rest with another. After this evening, I will return to Troy, but I pray that my leave will not mark the end of our alliance."

For a time, Eetion was silent, likely trying to decide which emotion to voice first. "Three days before the wedding!" he spat out at last, shaking somewhat as his anger unfolded.

Hector was prepared for such a response and quickly rejoined, "This is not a message I would have any other man deliver. You deserved to hear it directly from me, and if I had the chance to speak with you before now, I would have. You have my word."

He opened his mouth only to close it once more, then reconsidered. "I don't know which is more disappointing: your dismissal of this engagement three days before my daughter is to be wed..." He sighed, and his gaze shifted somewhat to a less offensive stance. "Or the thought of losing a son who has proven to be more honest and respectable than any man I've met." Hector's posture straightened proudly even though the words were unexpected, but Eetion was not through. "I cannot force you to marry my daughter, and I will not turn my back on Troy when you have aided us in our time of need. Though I respect your truthfulness, I cannot mask my displeasure. Whether the alliance continues after my death relies on my sons and their temperament... It is clear you have already won their favor at war, but how they will respond to you after this news, I can't say."

"I understand."

Eetion stood from his place then and cautiously approached the Trojan donning a mixed expression that was impossible to decipher. "The gods have blessed you, Prince Hector... I wonder who they have given you for a queen."

The prince smiled somewhat and bowed his head respectfully, seeing turquoise within his mind. "One day you may meet her."

"I hope that I do."

* * *

**Author's Note**: Hey lovies! You didn't think I'd really let Hector marry Andromache, right? :D I know this chapter took me the longest to upload, but I refused to put it up until I was completely happy with it. This next one will blow your socks off when Hector and Myrina see each other again, and it will take me awhile to write BUT I promise it will be worth it! I hope the time passing wasn't confusing, was it? The scene cutting back and forth was supposed to contrast the two and give the impression that they're both happening simultaneously like Hector and Myrina are each fighting their own battles in a sense.

Thank you to AmyLNelson and KawaiiHawaiian for the reviews and continuing support! You ladies are the greatest :)

Amy: Hey doll! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter, and I can understand how Andromache was a bit... irritating. I really didn't give her the chance to develop the levels of her personality which was admittedly to her disadvantage considering Myrina has had friggin 33 chapters haha But I wanted her to have a little more to her than the perfect princess persona. I wanted her to break the mold even if it was pretty insignificant, and for that secret to kinda bond she and Hector somewhat. Of course in the end, he realized he couldn't go through with it (sigh of relief, right?) and now he gets to see his girl. I hope you're excited for their reunion! Did you love the last Harry Potter? I had to laugh because like maybe a day or two after I got your review, I went to see it, and I was tempted to PM you and get your reaction! Oh the nerdiness :D It's a beautiful thing! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and will continue reading xoxo

Kawaii: Hey dialogue junkie! Unfortunately the wedding has not yet passed! So I'm still in slave-maid-of-honor mode haha It's ok though... It'll be over soon! Awww I'm sorry you despise Aeneas! He is a little snarky and tongue-in-cheek a lot. She finally told him she's in love with Hector... and it was difficult for me to decide how I wanted him to react. Part of me saw him getting much angrier more because he's humiliated and men's egos... Well, you know. But I just didn't think Myrina deserved it, so I reigned him a little. Of course he's like the the 7th person to call her a whore, but it's sort of a convenient, universal insult especially considering they both think Hector's married by now. Salt on the wound. Time passed by very fast! One chapter :) I could've divided it up, but I really just wanted to make it boom, boom, boom... You guys have been waiting 33 chapters. Let's get to the do or die moment when Hector and Myrina meet each other next. I know exactly what I want to happen, and I feel a bit evil since you don't know haha But I think you'll like it though I'm sure things won't happen the way you expect... at least that's what I'm aiming for! I still want to surprise you after all this time :) Thanks for the review and support, and I hope you liked this chapter! xoxo


	35. At War's End

Chapter 34  
"At War's End"

* * *

Recommended Songs: "Where I Stood" – Missy Higgins, "Live with Me" – Massive Attack, & "Fuori dal mondo" – Ludovico Einaudi

* * *

The plains were restless with a quiet anticipation late that afternoon. A gust of wind sent dust swirling up into the air, and the pale sand contracted at the base slowly feathering off the higher it reached toward the heavens. It side-stepped patches of dry grass, twirling, sprinting, spiraling uneasily, and one of the village children went sprinting after it. A young boy sporting an abundance of untamed chestnut curls chased behind the funnel of dust while it taunted him and danced out of his reach. He laughed vibrantly when the twister shifted course, rebounding back toward the direction it started, and he quickly adapted his trail to meet it in the middle. His hand was outstretched, those chubby little fingers reaching and reaching further to touch it, but with another gust his playmate disappeared into nothing. He stopped and stared at the vacant space with a dumbfounded, innocent expression, trying to understand what had happened. Steadily his features shifted to disappointment, and his dark eyes turned down to his bare feet blending into the plains from spending the day outside.

"Leot!" a young woman yelled from a nearby house, and the little boy twisted to peer back at his mother. "Leot, it's time to come inside!" Ignoring her calls, he returned his attention to the mysterious space, and a deep crease formed between his brow so out of place on his smooth childish face that it seemed as though a knife had carved out the indention. From her place bent over the village well, she saw it as clearly as day and wished she could reach out to smooth the disruption that he was too young to bear, but not a moment later he turned on his heels and sprinted back toward the house where his mother chided him about his dirt-ridden appearance before closing the door behind him. Myrina sighed gently and let more of her weight fall into the hand steadying her on the bricks, and she considered the seemingly bottomless well in front of her, only breaching the emptiness with the weight of her gaze. She knew precisely how the little boy felt and grabbed the rope dragging the full cask up little by little, and her body shuddered from the exertion used to bring it to the surface. She paused to wipe the sweat from her brow before filling their vessel with water and lowering the cask one more. The bottom of the clay pot sat against her hip, her slender arms wrapped around it to balance its weight against her, and she set off back toward her home with her eyes downcast to keep out the sun's rays and monitor her footfalls. Her limbs felt simultaneously weightless from her disconnected mind and leaden with the burden of her last year. It was the yoke around her neck making her weak and exhausted each day that she shouldered it, but even as the deadweight threatened to pull her toward despair, she found some settling peace in familiar surroundings. The distant sound of the sea, rushing of the breeze across the plains, warmth of the sun kissing her skin.

Returning from Dardania months earlier had felt like awaking from a nightmare. She was disoriented, confused, but deeply, thankfully safe. Soon reality had humbled her like a fist embedded in her gut as she discovered the extent of Aeneas' lies.

"_He sent a messenger," Isidora commented solemnly from her seat on their worn kitchen bench._

_Her heart was racing beneath her chest, breath quickening, but every muscle curled around her bones painfully tense. "What?" she exhaled in a whisper of disbelief._

"_We were told you were with him… Safe… Happy." Her mind was crumbling, but her gaze locked onto Isidora's bony frame tucked beneath the dirty folds of her dress. She had never noticed the poor state of their clothes or home or surroundings until she returned from the Dardanian palace in a crisp white gown. She returned a stranger to these lands._

"_Why didn't you come for me?"_

_Years out in the sun gave her face a rugged exterior riddled with age spots and sagging from numerous, heavy wrinkles, but her dark brown eyes, beady like thick coal, were nestled beneath bushy white brows and drilled steadily, slowly into Myrina. She felt betrayed by those eyes, forsaken, marooned… They were too honest._

"_You abandoned me there!" she gasped feeling the familiar weight pulsing behind her eyes. Her throat was contracting quickly, and she flattened her palm over her chest somehow trying to keep her wounded heart from breaking through the flesh._

"_How could we have known?" Raspy with age, Isidora's tone was cold but not malicious. Her frown shaded when she noticed the glistening to Myrina's eyes. "He was not the first…"_

"_I was alone. I was terrified. You would have left me there to endure him. Not a day passed that I did not think of you! I asked him again and again and again to return me –to bring me home." Isidora's thin lips disappeared in a flat line, but her eyes hardened. "Have you nothing to say to me? Do you truly care so little!"_

_At last her mouth opened, and her jaw trembled subtly. "What could I have done, Myrina?" Myrina's gaze fell to the floor like the block of ice burrowing farther into her gut. "What could any of us have done? …You were unreachable."_

The rejected wretch of two princes. They had each branded her something new, and she was ashamed to bear both marks but even more ashamed of her once idealistic passion. Hector she had loved. Aeneas she had surrendered to. She had spent her life trying to run from her rightful fate. Maybe the gods thought her selfish or vain in her attempt to outwit them, and they had acted swiftly with their judgment. A life of solitude she desired… A life of solitude she would bear. Every proposal from the men in her village and nearby was directly denied, and each day she watched the disappointment and sadness creeping into her father's eyes. She doubted he ever anticipated what his only daughter would become, and she wished she could remember her strength so that she could bind herself to a final man and finish her life humbly, quietly. She would ground her feet from running, still her sharp tongue, and keep her emotions tucked away, but her heart wouldn't let go.

Night found Myrina in her room poorly lit by candles packing for her journey the following day. They had received word that Alkaios was badly injured and being kept at an outpost on the border between Cilicia and Troad, and Myrina would journey south in the morning with a servant to visit her brother and see to his health. She feared the worst, but she refused to surrender another loved one. She was too stubborn to be dissuaded from this course of action no matter what her father or eldest brother said, and undoubtedly they worried she would sneak away in the night if need be. It was better then to see to her safety by finding her a chaperone to look after her. Isidora was far too old to make the journey, Korina would need to care for her child, and Diokles and Aeton had their business to handle; so a neighbor's servant would escort her and keep her company. It was farther than she had ever travelled in her life, but there was no excitement or adventure to be had in this trip. The circumstances were too grim for her once childish nature. She only prayed she would find her brother alive when she arrived.

Isidora was born in a village near Kolonai, and she spared no detail in recounting the memories of her childhood. But tonight she was unusually silent though there was a mountain of unspoken words filling the void between them. At length, she revealed what was consuming her thoughts, "You should be cautious with Epirus. Even the best of men may have the worst intentions."

"I have been in the company of two princes," Myrina commented dryly, surprised Isidora still warned her of men's motives. "An old servant cannot scare me."

The older woman pursed her lips in disapproval at the reminder of the untold things Myrina had endured in Dardania. "There is always something to fear, child…"

Korina was seated on the edge of the bed with little Antenor perched in her lap, his round head hanging heavily with sleep between his shoulders, and she added, "And you would not want further rumors to spread."

"There is not much left that gossips can say of me."

"You should be all the more cautious for that reason."

"I've lost the desire to care what falls from their tongues."

Isidora's hand fell on Myrina's and effectively stilled her for the time being, bringing her back down to the present and out of her mind. "Do not give up everything for this man."

Her gaze subtly shifted, thinking for some reason of the boy standing in the empty field, but she pushed aside the unvoiced thoughts. "What is so terrible in being alone?"

Isidora squeezed her hand knowingly. "I have spent half my life mourning the man I loved… Don't make the same mistake."

"Your husband died. You were released."

"Death is everlasting… as unyielding as the end of each word that leaves my lips. But I honor him every day that I think or speak of him. With every word I make him present… I remember that he is immortalized in my heart." Her wrinkled features shook from the intensity of her words, of memories and emotions that Myrina would never understand. "Love possesses you, and you are never released. But it is a blessing, Myrina, to know love. Now you must learn from your wounds and move forward."

"How can you expect your heart to heal when you will not let anyone near enough to mend the pieces?" Korina agreed and shifted Antenor's weight into her other arm. "Aeton spoke with Taulus the other day. His son remains unmarried. They have had a bountiful harvest. So much so that they have been forced to sell the excess beyond Troy north in…" She kept herself from saying 'Dardania' like it were an ugly word to Myrina's ears.

It was only a further reminder. "I can't be with another… I tried."

Isidora stepped forward to cup both Myrina's cheeks in her hands. "When I was married, I could not bear my husband a child… And after his death, the gods mercifully gave me a daughter in you. So you see there is always a path to take. You'll find what you are looking for if you search long enough… But you must keep moving forward."

By this time Antenor had abruptly stirred and writhed in his mother's arms restless and slightly cranky from his interrupted sleep. Without thinking, Myrina extended her arms, and Korina passed the little boy to her. She cradled him against her hip and slowly paced back and forth with him lightly bouncing him like she had when he was younger. She had forgotten how to smile until she met him. The stress of the attack on their village had brought him into this world sooner than anticipated, and everyone worried he would only survive a few days. Days turned to weeks turned to months, and here he sat on her hip heavy with round cheeks and large brown eyes surrounded by thick lashes. If ever there was a reason to love, this was it.

"When I return," she decided softly, staring down at Antenor who was chewing happily on his fingers, "perhaps I will."

—

There were still many ranks stationed at the outpost where they could rest before they finished their travels north to Troy. Camp followers were ever present, men and women who had journeyed with the army to cook for them, set up camp, and tend to their wounds. Their presence was almost as important as the soldiers since they were partly the driving force behind the army. Men cannot march without food in their bellies. No soldiers spared a glance at the pair riding into the grounds. Their peasant clothes likely placed them among the followers which Myrina assumed advantageous. Unfortunately, it made it more difficult for her to command a soldier's attention long enough to ask about her brother's whereabouts. After riding around for a time, finally one man was kind enough to direct them toward an area of the camp where the wounded were kept. A healer from Pedasus had come to tend to the injured men, and it was easiest if they were housed close to one another. Myrina and Epirus hastened toward this area, and a sickening feeling grew in her gut with every passing second. She offered up a worn prayer for her brother's life, knowing she wouldn't be able to cope with the loss of another loved one.

They could tell they were on the proper grounds when they began passing by tents where women were constantly boiling cloth on fires outside, some minutely injured soldiers waited with bandages wrapping their wounds, and there was a vile smell hanging over the area that reminded Myrina of the time she entered the room housing the thief years ago. Like then, it called forth an ingrained fear and disgust that nearly had her shaking. It was almost like facing Hades himself. She pushed the feelings to the periphery of her attention for the time being, long enough to be directed to the tent holding her brother. Outside the shelter, she dismounted her horse but hesitated nervously beside Eprius, trying to prepare herself for whatever sight would meet her eyes.

"Wait with the horses," she commanded in a short breath and forced aside the canvas flap at the entry before stepping into the tent. There were three cots arranged inside the narrow space, two along the sides, and one at the back. It intensified the cramped nature of the interior, and the air was hot and thick with the smell of blood and puss. It coated her throat and made her seal her lips shut before the stench overwhelmed her. For a moment, she stood frozen in the front of the tent, unable to bring herself to circle the beds and find her brother. Perhaps she should call for him to raise his head and identify himself, but she couldn't part her lips. Her breathing was shaky, and her heart raced uncertainly as she took the first fateful step toward the cot at her left. The soldier's head was angled toward her, and she held her breath as she bent closer, straining through the dim light to recognize her brother's features. Blonde hair peeked out from a bandage wrapped over his head, and she released the breath in short-lived relief only to face the cot at the back. She approached a little faster this time, growing more anxious and desperate to find him. The light was poorer at the back, and the soldier's face was turned away from her. Her eyes narrowed, straining to focus on his obscure outline. She couldn't see well enough and feared reaching out to touch a random man. Cautiously she whispered, "Alkaios?"

There was a pause before he turned his head in recognition of his name, and she was met with her brother's bright blue eyes, slightly lackluster from exhaustion and pain. They searched her own features, and he murmured dryly, "Myrina?"

There was no time to celebrate his life. Hearing his parched throat, she quickly found a vessel of water and filled a cup for her brother. She cradled the back of his head in her arm as she placed the edge to his lips and helped him drink. She thought he might finish the whole cup, but eventually he pushed at her hand to tell her to stop. Without hesitation, she set the cup aside, went to the bowl of water beside the pot, and wrung out a cool compress for his sweat-lined brow. As she gently dabbed the moisture from his forehead, pushing back the damp curls as she went to let the air sweep across the skin and cool him further, she allowed her gaze to search his body and locate his injury. His left thigh was bound with numerous bandages, but even in the poor light she could see the discoloration of blood staining them.

"When were these last changed?" she asked, unable to hide her irritation at the thought of her brother's needs being neglected, but she should have expected such. There were many men to tend to now that the war was over. She couldn't expect strangers to treat her brother with the amount of urgency she would.

"I'm not sure," he admitted. He couldn't even be certain how long he had been at the outpost. He had not left the tent, and it was difficult to tell when it was day and when it was night. The pain took most of his attention, and the stretched canvas blinded him to the rest.

"I will change them." She reached for his knee to unravel the bandage, but Alkaios hissed loudly.

"Leave it!" She snatched her hands away like she had been burned, and he carefully let his leg relax on the cot. "Part of the dagger is still lodged within… The healer must remove it before it will heal."

She swallowed heavily, frustrated with her impotence and decided, "I will speak with the healer. You shouldn't suffer like this." She dampened the compress once more before perching on the edge of his cot and dabbing at his forehead, cheeks, and dry lips. She had never seen her brother so pale, and she was grateful for the poor lighting so that she could not properly see the extent of his injury.

Without warning, a wry smile tugged at the edges of his mouth, and he revealed, "I protected your prince as I promised."

Her hand unintentionally stilled at the mention of Hector like it were a brief attack charging deep into her chest, and she closed her eyes against the memory of her idealistic love. How could she have asked her brother to look after another? It was another abasement added to her list of foolish mistakes. "You should have protected yourself. I care for you far more."

"He wanted to have me killed," Alkaios continued with his story, oblivious to the distress he was causing his sister. "For not obeying him… But when I told him my name, he knew I was your brother." By this time, her hands had fallen to her lap with the damp compress between them wetting her dress, and she was unable to meet his gaze. "I told him of my promise to you."

Her heart dropped down to her stomach, and she winced subtly as she realized how much more idiotic her brother had made her seem. Hector was promised to someone else. He had his bride, and yet Alkaios had to remind him that Myrina was incapable of moving forward. She wondered if he found her unyielding devotion amusing or pathetic. Her pride turned to reveal something sickly and injured, and she pressed bitterly, "You should not have spoken of it to him."

Before Alkaios could respond, there was a rustling as the flap to the tent was pushed aside, and Myrina turned expecting either the healer or a camp follower to enter. Instead, an all too familiar figure bent to step inside, and she quaked slightly as she recognized the features etched out in the dim lighting: Lysander, one of Hector's trusted subordinates. Instantly she knew why he had come before he even announced, "He wishes an audience with you."

Her heart leapt into her throat at the prospect of the man who had consumed her thoughts for months being so close on the same campgrounds. She thought he was in Troy once more. Why was he here, and how had he learned of her presence? The part of her that still loved him bloomed in her chest upon hearing his request for her, but her logic quickly reined her in before she was too far gone. These details were of no concern to her. _He_ was of no concern to her. "I won't see him," she rejoined brusquely.

Lysander's face fell in shock at her response, but it was only for a second. He pressed, "What would you have me tell him?"

It was a chance for her to change her answer to something much more respectful and acceptable, but she was stubborn in her resolve. Months of pain from him made her unwisely brazen, but it was easier managed with a solider and not Hector himself. "My answer remains the same."

Though he hesitated for a moment with unspoken words lining his tense silhouette, Lysander retreated, and she released a long breath that she hadn't realized she was holding. She had the intuition that he would return soon and would not accept a similar response. She turned to Alkaios with a tightening in her chest, fearing and welcoming the chance to speak with Hector, and she prayed she would be strong when the time came. He could bring her to her knees with a word or a look, but she wouldn't allow him to penetrate her defenses this time.

"What have you done, Myrina?" Alkaios commented with a disapproving crease in his sweat-lined brow. There was no time to explain the past year to her brother, and she didn't wish to weigh him down with her troubles. Love was so menial in the presence of war's repercussions.

"I would not care if I never saw his face again," she decided while holding her head high. Thinking of him called on months of pent up anger, frustration, hurt, and deep treachery. The tempest arose with renewed vigor like it had been waiting for the opportunity to unleash itself, and when Lysander returned some time later as she had suspected he would, she was armed.

The journey toward his tent was a lengthy one, but she doubted any prince would wish to be too near his subjects. A million biting comments sprung to her tongue, her weapon at the ready, and she felt like a snake coiling within the brush and waiting to strike. Hector could not possibly anticipate how this year without him had changed her. She hoped he would be shocked by her metamorphosis and would recognize that he had precipitated it with his lies and his betrayal. His tent stood up taller and broader than any of the ones surrounding it, a visible sign of his position and clout, and her eyes fixed on it like it were the sight of her last battle. There stood a year's worth of retribution, vengeance, judgment… It was simultaneously terrifying and liberating, and she quaked from the overwhelming power of both though she kept her pace steady, a warrior to her core. Lysander stepped ahead of her to push aside the cloth covering the entryway and allowed her to continue on her own. He could see the fire in her eyes though he couldn't understand the origin, and he vaguely hoped his liege had the sense and ability to douse it for his sake. Her heartbeat reached a crescendo as she slightly ducked her head to step within the confines. Candles were lit across the space, illuminating the richly colored fabrics, bronze features, and royal hallmarks in a beautiful golden hue, but she barely had a moment to consider the interior. Her gaze was captured by his presence waiting expectantly in the center of the tent, the black outline of his robes slicing through like he embodied the bladed words that had sealed her fate. The shock faded in every pulse of her heart steadily beating faster and faster, and she was only aware of its repercussions within her because of the pain searing after every contraction. The invisible hand he commanded circled it, squeezing, controlling, grasping. He hadn't moved or spoken a word, but he reached into her to remind her she never had a chance. She shivered deep inside and violated by how he effortlessly tortured her. Memories had already faded, and she was reminded of all the minute details she had been unable to recall. Even in a year he had changed so much with deeper eyes, slightly drawn features, a heaviness to his shoulders, and an air radiating off him of so many things he had seen and experienced. He felt older, wiser, worn. It was a side of him she had never seen. Through that weight, he smiled when his eyes landed on her, and it brought back a more familiar youthful sense to him. Like they were old friends welcoming each other, or like he were setting his sights on the legendary walls of Troy after years at war. She felt like home to him.

He was caught between rushing her to remember the weight of her in his arms and taste of her lips, but something in her eyes nailed his feet to the ground. He took his time examining her and welcomed the junction of memory and present in that moment. The most noticeable change was the ill-fitting nature of her clothes hanging from her thinner figure. Her cheekbones jutted out like knife blades, and her turquoise eyes were set a little deeper in her face, giving them a shadow that only emphasized the dark skin surrounding them. He couldn't understand and broke the silence as he wondered, "Why would you not come to me?"

"Why have you called on me?"

Her tone hinted at her fury despite its ice-cold nature, and he was baffled by her response to him when he was elated to be in her presence. "It has been a year, Myrina… I had to see you."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously looking more and more like an animal baring its teeth before a fight. "You have your princess to call upon now."

Every word was laced with such bitterness that he could feel them biting at his skin, but he was more shocked than pained. "I had hoped you wouldn't hear. I should have come to you."

"I deserved to hear it from you," she snapped viciously.

"I didn't want you to be upset when there was no reason to be. I needed time to plan. I had to think of my country and my people-"

"Don't-" she interrupted with a frown of disgust. "Don't you dare act like this was any easier for me."

The truth was in her eyes, the deep wound that he caused when he had only tried to protect her. The guilt bladed through him, and he promised, "I gave up everything for you."

"What have you surrendered for me? You have your title, you have your crown, you have your riches, your pride, your wife…"

His brow creased at the last comment, and he suddenly realized the source of her wrath. "I'm not married. I ended the betrothal for _you_." It hit her like a wave crashing over her, crushing her, making her knees quake unsteadily. Her features relaxed, her mouth fell ajar slightly, and she struggled through her tumultuous anger and hurt to process such a simple statement and the profound implications it had for her. He watched her reaction unfolding before him, but where he had expected her to appear pleased, she looked completely lost. "What else matters?"

The admission should have soothed her wounds. It was what she had been waiting a lifetime to hear, but somehow it only magnified the pain, knowing now that she had endured it all for nothing. If only he had come and spoken with her before he left. If only he had kept his promise. Maybe she could have avoided this all. Her fury flared tenfold, and she spat out, "Because you left me… without a word. Without anything. You abandoned me! Do you know what I was forced to endure?"

"I was called to war. What did you expect of me? I have greater concerns. I had to lead my men, protect Troy's alliance, and handle this engagement –all so that I could be with you. Why can you not understand this? What more could I have done?"

"You left me to the wolves!"

"What?" he hissed out so swiftly with his expression morphing into jealous anger at the prospect of anyone preying on her while he was away.

Her eyes shone defiantly back. "I thought you were married. I wanted to clear my name. But you've ruined me… My father can scarcely look me in the eye. I am known as your forgotten whore."

The stress of a year at war had him walking the thin line between the prince and the solider. His frustration built with every passing minute to sour his temperament, and he could feel that rougher nature straining to rear its ugly head. His voice was harsher near a growl as he countered, "My father sent me here as a punishment for ending the engagement. I've threatened Troy's alliance, disobeyed and failed my father, and jeopardized my chance of becoming king. Have I not sacrificed enough for you?"

"I'm not your consolation prize! You can't claim me whenever you please and leave me the next moment. I can't-" The words lumped unexpectedly in her throat, and even she was surprised by how her honesty was reopening the wound. Her eyes pulsed with unshed tears, but she promised herself she wouldn't cry for him –never again.

Her underlying vulnerability quelled that violent beast in him so completely that he was stunned in the wake. But he had never betrayed her. Cautiously he advanced on her, straining to make her see past her own stubbornness to his unwavering loyalty. "I don't want you for a prize. I want you for my wife."

The words hit too close for her to bear and threatened to sway her conviction. In a selfish flare of fury, she spat, "No one has ever hurt me as much as you have!"

He paused midstride when the words shot from her lips sharper and more vicious than ever before. She lashed out as though an animal cornered and fearful, but her anger reawakened his own. All patience dissolved, and it sprung from his gut with a vengeance before she even had time to register his movement. His arms circled around her like iron bars crushing her against him, and she recognized the searing heat of his mouth covering her own and the roughness of his beard scratching her face. He crashed over her with such power, unyielding in his resolve to make her see him, and her instinct was to surrender. Every battle he won between them, and already he leveraged her lips apart kissing them so fiercely it pained her to relish it. But as soon as the wave had engulfed her, it was retreating back to reveal her untamed fury. It came in flashes of their childhood, nights with Aeneas, time waiting for Hector, and memories of tears shed. Her jaw clenched shut, her muscles compressed down around her to give her strength, and she struck at him like she never had before. Her palms flattened on his chest and pushed him away with every ounce of power she had in her, but he was too strong for her to destroy. She writhed against him, twisting her face away to break from their kiss and regain control over her senses. She shifted like quicksilver in his arms so that he barely could keep his grip on her, and her dress twisted around her as she struggled.

She was wild and savage with those haunting eyes wide in desperation. He drew her closer, trying to steady her body with his own, and he strained to grasp her attention. "Myrina…" One hand took hold of her dress to brace her when he couldn't get a handle on her slender body beneath. He wouldn't release her no matter how she pulled, shifted, turned, or pushed, and her outburst was coming to a frantic head. It began with a loud rip as the fabric tore from the intensity of his hold on her and her own attempts to flee from him. It split the left shoulder of her dress in two, and it unraveled to reveal her shoulder, more angular from the trying months. The sound was enough to momentarily still her as she realized what had happened. With their chests pressed together shifting in each breathless gasp of air, the fabric was unable to fall completely, but he hungrily eyed the exposed skin glowing bronze in the candlelight. That appetite was stirred in remembering her lips, feeling her body writhing against his, and seeing the frayed edges of her dress barely hiding her breast. But when her eyes met his, he realized something else far more paramount had broken. It echoed in the angry burn of his cheek from the force of her curled fist hitting him. He had taught her well, and she didn't pause to acknowledge the shooting pains travelling through her hand and up her arm as she twisted to meet her mark again.

He was faster as he caught her wrist and forced it behind her back, and she nimbly kept her other arm away from his reach. His mouth fell on her again heavy and untamed, and her free hand reached for something to attack. It found the bare skin of his chest beneath his vest, and her nails turned to claws digging deep into that taut flesh. He growled angrily against her lips, wrenching her hand from its position though it left a violent five point trail down his chest, and forced it beside the other. She was so slender they fit in one of his hands, and with every move, the skin twisted within his grip. The pain fed her fury as his fed his lust, resulting in an even greater divide among them, and without hesitation he ripped the right shoulder of her dress apart. She stubbornly kept her chest glued to his so the material couldn't fall and reveal her, but his hand roughly yanked it to her waist leaving her chest naked for him to take. His mouth marked a hot trail down her neck, and with her own free she commanded and begged, "Let me go!" His lips were too persuasive kissing away her resolve and making her knees shudder in a very familiar way. The stubble pricking her tender skin, musky scent radiating off him, way his body moved… He was killing her slowly. Her throat contracted around the lump, and she felt her lip trembling. "No." She didn't realize she had voiced it, but once she did, she couldn't stop. It was both her battle cry and her white flag waving in the wind. The anger stubbornly dug its claws into her, but something else was growing inside her chest that was so much more seductive. She tried not to focus on the way his hand gripped her wrists forceful but somehow gentle.

'_I would never hurt you.'_

Suddenly she was out for blood. With his attention focused on the crook of her neck and the feel of her skin, he didn't catch her in time. One wrist was freed, and her hand grabbed a handful of chestnut curls yanking so roughly to pull his head away from her that he voiced a deep groan of pain. It was enough to make his grip loosen, and she tore herself away stumbling back and clumsily grabbing the edges of her dress to cover herself. His head bent between his shoulders, and she watched his muscular body expand and compress with his heightened breath. He was trying to steady himself so he didn't lunge at her, and she knew it. There was a fateful second where her mind screamed for her to run, but she wanted to face him. His eyes pinned her from beneath his brow so dark and wild that her heart skipped in her chest. She should have run. He caught her before she could and forced her up against him. One hand buried in her hair holding her face in place where he could devour those lips while the other slid up her leg to cup her bare butt and balance her on his hips. Her legs had no choice but to part for him, her dress gathering up to her waist until she felt her core press down heavily on the bare strip of skin below his vest. It practically burned through her entire body making her tremble, and for the life of her, she wanted to wrap her legs around him. But that betrayal to her cause wasn't allowed. Her hands hit his shoulders, but it was like pounding on a wall, impenetrable and unyielding. He kissed her deeply penetrating her mouth while focusing on the heat of her folds and that wetness telling him far more than her angry fists on his chest and shoulders. She couldn't hide such raw want, and how he hungered for her so deeply and completely that it blinded him to anything else. Somehow he lowered her on the bed taking the time to pull off her dress completely until that bronze skin spilled across the pillows for him to enjoy.

His mouth took her breast first while his fingertips painstakingly trailed across her skin. They had memories of their own and traced every curve like he were marking out his territory. He had journeyed over her soft flesh time and time again, but he claimed her now. No more discussion. No more arguments. His teeth found the hardened bud crowning her breast, and she couldn't stop her back from arching into him or hold the moan that fell from her lips. Her body caught in shudders of sparks little eruptions of pleasure he was causing beneath her surface, and for that moment her hands cradled his shoulders while she selfishly savored the weight of his lips feeding off her. When it passed her hand gripped the material of his vest to hold him from descending any lower, but he was preoccupied untying the knot at his waist with his intentions much more simple and paramount than their previous times together. He found his way between her thighs shifting over her until his face was above her own, and she read his intention in his eyes. She struggled as swiftly as she could to reach between them and catch his hips, but he didn't hesitate. She felt him parting her lips and letting the strength in his legs guide him. The pressure built over her opening where it felt he might not pass turning from discomfort gradually toward pain, and all in a split second while she vainly tried to fight him away. And then it passed, a burst of pain like she had never experienced, and a cry choked out of her throat. His chest kept her pinned in place more to stop her from writhing and hurting herself while he slowly penetrated deeper. He was attune to every spasm of her muscles and sharing some conversation with her body that told him when to stop poised only halfway within her.

Her profile was to him with her face contorted in a cry she wouldn't voice. If she could hold it inside maybe she could keep the pain from spreading through the rest of her, but his kiss tenderly brushed her cheek to catch a tear falling down it. It drove a crack in her defenses, and the whimper of pain barely breached her trembling lips. But she couldn't open her eyes to see him. That would break her so much deeper than her body. She felt his lips hushing her tears against her temple, but her attention fell lower to the forceful pulsing of pain between her legs and the discomfort of him cutting within. Her legs were trying to close like she could still force him away though she knew the damage was already done. The tears wouldn't stop, and he slowly drew back only allowing himself this much of her until she relaxed. He didn't need to hurt her more than was necessary even as it tortured him to feel that tightness and heat like he had never experienced with another woman. Her scent doused him as he slid back inside her, and fantasy, dreams, desires, and present collided in that instant. Finally she was his. Her lips remained sealed and eyes clenched closed. The last of her rebellious nature remained. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing how pleased she was that it was him taking her or how the pain was fading with every pulse to reveal something restless and hungry for more of him.

Silent minutes passed with not a sound or shift in her body, and he considered her profile again searching to understand if it were pain or something else. He kissed the corner of her lips trying to coax her to turn her head and acknowledge him, but she remained dead to him in some childish bout. His hips stopped while he stared down at her. "Myrina…" he murmured partly amused and partly annoyed by her defiance, but his nose brushed her cheekbone as his mouth lowered near her ear where she would have to hear him and acknowledge his intimacy. "Please make love to me."

The earnest words defeated her too easily and shook her to her core until her eyelashes clumping with tears parted. Her gaze found him waiting patiently above her, and her head pivoted on the pillow to face him and what he had done. For the first time in nearly a year, the pain crushing her heart faded, and tears fell down her cheeks one after the other as she looked deep into the chestnut eyes that had belonged the boy of her memory and now the man claiming her for his future. She thought he was breaking her, but he was healing her. Her hands curled around his neck using his strength to pull herself up until her lips crashed into his. When her arms faltered, he followed and pinned her to the pillow with his mouth, their lips so desperate to enjoy each other's that he momentarily forgot his purpose. Then he felt her body slowly piece by piece relax against the bed as she surrendered to her trust in him and tried to adjust to this feeling. Her legs opened more to fit him, and her knees and calves cradled his chest where she could feel the layers of muscles contracting around him to slowly slide farther into her. Her lips stilled against him, and she closed her eyes once more to fight off the shooting pains she thought had disappeared. The desire growing in her abdomen absorbed the pain so that she could find his eyes once more and relish how the pieces of her life fell perfectly into place if only for that moment. Her lips pulled back to reveal a small smile of pure satisfaction that she couldn't contain, and he was slightly baffled by such a response. But gradually he mirrored it, falling over her to scoop her into his arms and catch her lips, and his hips found a steady rhythm letting her adjust to him.

Every heartbeat shuddered through her exchanging the pain for her growing want, and she swallowed dryly as her mind wrapped around the sensuality of feeling him. A heavy exhale left her lips, and she focused on the shifting of his body above her and through her, arching her back until her breasts crushed into his chest like she could fit every inch of her skin against him. But she was frustrated with the material of his vest keeping him from her, and she quickly untied the center and forced it over his shoulders and down his arms. He tossed it to the side, and the heat inside the tent was compressing down on them until their naked skin was dewy with sweat. Their bodies stuck together causing a whole other friction that was taunting her steadily. Her low moan brushed his lips and traveled the length of his spine down to his hips hitting her a little harder in response. There was a soft sound of pain, but her body welcomed him like she were drunk on the experience. Even the pain was pleasurable if only because it meant she could experience him. His heart was thundering powerfully in his chest, and he savored how perfectly she fit him with those searing wet walls wrapping around him. He was loosing himself in her, and he pushed in completely until his hips were embedded in the soft flesh of her thighs. She tensed at first in a shock of pain and satisfaction, but his hand took her knee and helped open her while his hips rocked there teasing every piece of her. The pleasure was so extreme it was more than she could bear, and all the muscles contracted around her to settle like a heavy knot in her belly. His abdomen rubbed against her clit with every motion, and the combination of sensations with him so immersed in her and simultaneously stimulating every bit of her was pushing her too far. Her body was quaking, and he drew back to cut into her again finding that place with his hips embedded in her thighs. She released the pent up breath in a sharp exhale and moaned loudly, twisting beneath him, but the pleasure crashed over her again and again leaving her breathless, disoriented, and incapacitated.

He came swifter into her, and by the now their skin was slick with sweat making her body move with every impact. The force of his thrusts had her rocking evenly beneath him, rebounding from each contact to meet him halfway, and she forgot how to breathe too concerned with that rousing heat between her legs and how she could feel him cut through it stirring and overpowering it at the same time. She gripped his shoulders trying to hold on, fighting for control over her own body, but her lust was fascinated with feeling his muscles flexing like tiny earthquakes beneath his skin to bring him into her so forcefully and to draw back once more. Another collision travelled up her spine until her head rolled beneath her, and she arched up pressing her body into his. He was unyielding, and hard met soft, his length thrusting into her again to steal her strength until she collapsed back on the bed. The tension of every exhale made her muscles shudder and contort under the pleasure of him filling her to the brim. Her hands fell from his shoulders down his spine to admire every taut inch now smooth with tiny beads of sweat all the way down until they slid into the small of his back, and she indulged in how perfectly constructed he was. And he was hers. She almost felt the rumbling of muscles, but not nearly like the power of his next thrust reminding her how painfully pleasurable he was. He knocked the breath out of her making her entire body burn like she was the sizzling chord of an explosive waiting to burst.

Then he scooped her up into his arms, sitting back on his heels with his long legs folding beneath them, and she clung to his neck carefully holding herself up from falling any farther on him. He could access more of her, fit himself in deeper, and she wasn't ready to let go yet. The sweat on their bodies had her slipping slowly, and his mouth crushed hers suddenly making her ignorant to his grip loosening on her waist. Gravity pulled her lower onto him, and she choked somewhere between a cry and moan when there was nothing more for her to take. He was cradling her still gentle even with her breasts crushed between them. She felt she was crumbling in his embrace. He was pushing her too far, but his hand slipped down to grab her butt. His arms locked around her carefully, protectively as he lifted her back up, and she gulped down a shaky breath of cold air, trying to cool the explosion inside her and prepare herself for the freefall. He was guiding her with the utmost care, but she felt like she was spiraling out of control. She'd never let anyone else do this to her, but through the haze, she found those dark eyes tumultuous and calm. She trusted him more than herself and steadied herself with her hands curled around his neck and fingers buried in his damp brown locks. His arms relaxed, her heart was ricocheting so powerfully in her chest it nearly burst through; and then it felt like she was falling slowly, but he met her too fast. Her head jerked back between her shoulders, eyes closed, and a short cry escaped her lips. He hadn't meant to release her so quickly, but her skin was slippery in his hands from their sweat. His mouth caressed her neck to soothe away that pain while he readjusted his hold, digging his fingers into her backside, his arm locking around her waist. He lifted her up letting her breathe, and her head fell forward once more, her forehead resting against his cheek where her hair stuck to his skin. Her grip around his shoulders nearly gave out, but those arms like sculpted bronze were just as strong and balanced her against him even as her strength fled her.

"Hector…" she pleaded hoarsely, and his lips kissed away the sweat from her temple even as he lowered her down once more. The blood rushed to her cheeks, her breath came short and raspy, but there was a moan in the back of her throat when his hips met her inner thighs. Everything was swirling around her except him holding her and penetrating her. His own pleasure was cresting unbearably strong poised to consume him at any second, but he resisted it each time she enveloped him. She was too fragile in his arms for him to lose control, and he was strong enough for them both. He closed his eyes, pulling her closer for a better handle, and their bodies collided faster until she was heady with need. Her mouth was on level with his ear, and he was provoked by every gasp and moan that escaped her lips. He wanted to push them farther, enjoy her more, satisfy that untamed pleasure building in his abdomen. He wanted to protect and crush her –to exhaust everything he had for her. She was searing him burning around him, and he felt her long after he lifted her away each time. She echoed within him, reverberating in a powerful surge, and every collision felt better than the last. He was chasing after her and catching her every time she fell, and he didn't care about the shaking in his body. His muscles struggled to obey his commands, but he was driven by something far stronger than lust. He needed her: a magnetism so natural and necessary it eclipsed anything else.

Their sweat marked out the rhythm of their thrusts, but she couldn't hear it over their mixed breathing and the heartbeat pounding in her ears. She was slipping in his arms no matter how he tried to hold on, and he reluctantly released her back down on the bed, falling over her and using his legs now that the strength of his arms had given out. His knees were further back, his hips rocking upward with every thrust into her, and she had never known pleasure so extreme. She was broken beneath him, but he filled her then completely claiming her. Instead of knotting her fingers in the sheets, her hands cradled his head once more, holding him where she could see through his damp hair to his catch his gaze. Beads of sweat fell from his hair to hit her face with every repercussion of his thrusts, and their bodies were shifting against one another constantly so that every cell of her skin could enjoy feeling the friction of him as he was thrusting inside her so wet and burning for him. Those chestnut eyes finally revealed something fiercer, out of control, and she knew it was mirrored in hers as well. That desire too consuming, burning inside them too deeply, numbing them to anything else. He crashed over her leaving her breathless, and she held onto him even tighter. She couldn't ignore the pleasure burrowing deep in her belly, coiling and contracting, crushing her under an infinite weight. Every time his length cut into her, he tightened his hold over her, and part of her wanted to beg him to leave her be. And part of her wanted to beg him to never leave. He couldn't feel his body anymore, the way his muscles shuddered painfully, the way his lungs burned with each breathless gulp of air. He was centered on her, locked in place by the desperate request in her eyes, and his arms drew her closer remembering their strength to protect her. And he hit deep inside of her setting off an eruption so powerful through her body. Her fingers dug into his scalp, she couldn't voice the moan caught in her throat, her body froze beneath him. He felt her walls contracting around him so tightly he gritted his teeth, and her climax rushed over him spurring his own. He thrust through it pushing in as deep as he possibly could into her where he found his release, groaning loudly through clenched teeth. All his muscles contracted down around his body for a painful moment to squeeze out every ounce of his essence, and in the wake, pleasure and calm flooded him. His body was exhausted, his mind high on the ecstasy of their love making, and he fell over her burying his face in the crook of her neck.

This time her arms cradled him close, stroking back the damp hair from his forehead so that the air could cool him. Spasms through his tired muscles made him shudder slightly on top of her, and she kissed his forehead, holding him closer, still enveloping him inside her. It was peace and warmth feeling her hold every piece of him, and he relaxed completely over her surrendering to that comfort. She didn't complain when his weight made her breaths shallow or crushed her ribs. It was a welcome burden keeping him near and being able to love him selflessly and indulgently for that moment. His knees shifted to leverage him out of her so that he could roll onto his back, and he yearned for her again like he hadn't had enough of her yet. He wanted to experience her again, to lose himself in her, to claim her, to remember how she felt… But there was time. They had a lifetime. She found her refuge then resting her cheek on his chest and helping him wind those long arms around her. She was exhausted but satisfied, smiling gently against his skin and letting the rise and fall of his chest rock her toward sleep. He turned to peer down at her, and she tilted her head back to meet his gaze. Unspoken words laced his eyes, but he smiled and cupped her cheek rubbing his thumb across the soft skin in a tender gesture that said more than words could have. Her hand fell over his, and she turned to kiss the palm of his hand before staring back up at him. For a time no words were exchanged as they reveled in some mutual peace and satisfaction that they had fought years to achieve. Deep exhaustion penetrated her bones and muscles so that her lids hung lower over her eyes, but she didn't want to close them afraid this was another dream she would wake from.

"I have so much to tell you," she finally whispered, feeling the weight of the past year threatening to sour this moment.

His eyes peacefully heavy, heart still calming, breaths deep, he drew her a little closer to him. His lips parted for a response, but he reconsidered and decided, "Tomorrow," like he was already assuming the role he had chosen in her life. So easily he kept the thoughts at bay, and she nestled her face further into his skin, exhaled deeply, and relaxed against him, slowly falling into a deep sleep.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Hey my lovelies! First and foremost I'm so sorry this took such a long time to post. Unfortunately, life happens, and there wasn't much I could do to stop it. But I'd like to say to all the loyal followers from the start and the new ones I've picked up along the way, thanks for your patience and support. It never goes unappreciated :) Too mushy? Eh. I'm a sucker after this scene with Myrina and Hector haha

Thanks especially to AmyLNelson, XoXMaximumculleNXoX, Syrena Swift, Anonymous, KawaiiHawaiian, and klandgraf2007! You guys are the best!

Amy: Oh my darling Amy it's been too long! :) I'm so glad you enjoyed the last chapter especially since you were left with it for so long haha Yea Aeneas was a bit of a jerkwad, but like you said it's kinda in his character. To be honest in my initial planning of this story, I was going to have Myrina end up with him and Hector with Andromache. I told my friend about that, and she said I was like biggest bitch of the century if I did that. So I lost my nerve and decided they belonged together. That's the whole fun of writing a story, isn't it? You get to shift things to your liking. OMG this was forever ago hahaha Harry Potter was awesome. I made my boyfriend go see it with me and kept punching him the arm every five minutes when something would happen. The ending was so good! I might've shed a tear... Maybe ;) I hope you enjoyed this chapter doll xoxo

Maximum: Sweet name haha I was copying it at the top, and I was like wait was that capitalized? Shit! You've got my attention :) I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter, and I realize this wasn't exactly "soon" but hey... Better later than never, eh? I'll try to be more timely if I can help it! Thanks gorgeous xoxo

Syrena: Hey girl heyyyyyy! My writing is your drug? Well crack does kill, so I guess it's a better alternative haha Less angst? I don't know why, but Myrina is so fiesty in my head. I started writing this scene and just saw her tearing Hector a new one cause that's how she is. Of course he was like 'hooker puh-leasseee... you're my woman!' Nowwww they get to deal with grumpy Priam, Myrina's family, and all that jazz. But spoiler alert: it'll work out. I'm not that mean to taunt you guys with this and then take it away! Not to mention I'm ready for an end to the angst too. Let's have a pretty wedding, some hot wedding night _business_, and make some babies happen. Savy? haha Thanks so much for the continuing support xoxo

Anonymous: I wish you had left a name, so I'd have something more appropriate to call you, but you'll remain a mystery! That review was seriously so, so sweet, and I wanted to recognize it all the same. It was such a beautiful thing to say and totally kept me on track to continue this story. Thanks so much, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much! :) xoxo

Kawaii: Dialogue junkie! This is so exciting. I feel like I'm running into old friends :) I'm glad you liked the twist of events. Like I said I was planning on having Aeneas be with Myrina and Andromache with Hector, but my conscience caught up with me. How much pain can I make two characters I happen to love endure? Clearly only this much haha We'll see how Aeneas reacts at the wedding. I imagine I'll have him and Myrina exchange a few words :) King Arthur, huh? Clive Owen (drool). I loved the last battle scene in that movie. It was so good! I hope the writer's block stays away. You write too well to let it get to you! haha Summer is over and here comes fall. I hope you've been well since we last spoke xoxo

klandgraf: Hey doll! You crack me up with your periodic reviews. It's so great being able to get your reaction throughout the story even though you started reading later. I really appreciate the feedback :) I'm also so happy you enjoyed the last chapter! Yay Hector's not marrying Andromache indeed! He and Myrina will talk in the next chapter about basically everything, so don't you worry. I'm revealing things in due time, so you'll find out what happened to her that day way back when Aeneas took her. I hope you liked this chapter as well! xoxo


	36. First Step

Chapter 35  
"First Step"

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Recommended Songs: "Starlight" – Muse & "Pickup Truck" – Kings of Leon

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The border was pale in morning's light as the young sun threw off the shadows of night and signaled the start of a new day. Horns were blown through the camp, and soldiers met the calls with a reluctant dragging of their feet and grumbles under their breath. From his seat at a campfire, Lysander watched the outpost stirring to break the silence of sleep and poked at the fire to rearrange the logs and keep the flame ablaze but not too overpowering. He nursed the cup of water in his hand feeling his weariness fall heavier and heavier across his shoulders. His liege had not commanded it of him, but some things needn't be spoken among men. The Trojan had kept watch all night to be sure no one interrupted the prince and his companion, and he wondered if his presence would be necessary all day. Having not seen or heard any signs of life from the large tent, he imagined they would find any excuse not to leave the confines, and his thoughts inevitably drifted to his young wife waiting for him in Troy. He would follow a similar course of action when he saw her next no matter how many nights had been stolen from him, and already the thought brought a tightening to his groin that nearly made him throw the cup of water on his face to keep it at bay.

A few soldiers came to join him from nearby tents and waited for a camp follower to find them and fill their stomachs before they were divided up to their individual tasks. The elder men were grumpy so early in the day while the younger ones jovially clapped Lysander on the shoulder and exchanged pleasantries. It was during a break in conversation that a telltale sound escaped the tent, and one of the younger men spoke up, "By my count that's the third time since night."

"Fourth," a much older man corrected, and the group erupted in a rowdy bout of laughter that echoed through the campgrounds.

"You're imagining things, you horny bastard!" another spoke up through his laughter. "You can't hear the crowing of morning!"

"I'm not deaf to all…" the man admitted with a toothy grin that garnered him a heavy smack on the back from one of the soldiers beside him.

"The Prince would be better served if you were," Lysander chided though swiftly dipping the cup to lips to hide the smile still present.

The soldiers shucked him off with sounds of disapproval, and one particularly loose-lipped man was ready to admonish him in return, "You've been at war too long, Lysander. You forget the warmth of a woman."

"And you've never known the pleasure of one," he countered irritably, making the young man shrink back despite himself. The others roared once more, and Lysander shook his head with a heavy sigh and noted a messenger walking toward Hector's tent. It was just a well. A few more moments, and he would have insulted every man gathered. "There's work to be done. Be swift about it so we all can return to our beds and our wives." He parted from them then and quickened his pace to intercept the messenger. "What business do you have with the Prince so early?"

"A message from the King."

"Is it urgent?"

"It is for Prince Hector."

Lysander's brow knit in mild irritation, and he conceded, "Why don't you sit with the men? Eat. Drink. I'll find you when the Prince has finished his morning duties." The messenger hesitated looking past the Trojan soldier's muscular build toward the tent, but Lysander's presence was unyielding in front of him. He had no choice but to surrender, and Lysander gestured toward the nearby fire not sparing a glance at the tent. He couldn't deny his ears perked up as he crossed by the entryway, but there was nothing coming from within that he could perceive now. He damned himself for his own imprudence and followed the messenger back toward the fire though still wondering what the pair were up to…

Myrina fell onto her side breathless, glowing and near laughter at any second, and not a moment later his lips were nestled in the crook of her neck, his beard tickling her like his warm breath falling across her skin. She writhed onto her back to face him and caught his lips for her own, using her hands on his cheeks to hold him there until her lungs ached for air, and when he gave her the chance to breathe as he kissed along her jaw licking at the salty layer of sweat, she grinned and wondered through her uneven breath, "Again? You've barely let me sleep."

His head lifted at the accusation, and he countered, "Did you not wake me this morning with your-"

Her hand covered his mouth before he could tell the secret of her confidence within these confines, and she poorly lied, "I was hungry."

He pushed her hand away to find her mouth taking her bottom lip between his teeth and sucking gently in a way he had discovered made her surrender immediately. As he expected her eyes fluttered closed, and he released that plump flesh to ask, "Are you not satisfied?" The husky tone was not lost on her, and her body shivered pleasantly to hear it come from him. Without warning, he rolled them over letting her straddle his waist and feeling her naked body bear down upon him. He could have taken a city in battle and wouldn't have felt as victorious as running his hands down her bare back and over the curve her butt without any objection from her. Instead she kissed him again and again like her hunger could be satiated with the taste of his lips, and he welcomed her attempt while falling victim to her allure and the effect it had on him. Within these stretched canvas walls excess was indigenous like the rich shades of the sheets and warmth of light mirrored in the bronze, the almost oppressive heat of the fire in the center, the appetite of their naked flesh that stole sleep away, the volume of her laughter resounding so often it was like she had forgotten its ring, and the warmth in his eyes as she had never seen making her realize how much deeper they were to hold so much. But always there was some awareness of the division between their stolen retreat and the severity waiting for them outside this octagonal space sheltered in a thin veil of material. It couldn't be escaped no matter how deeply she buried her face into his skin or how tightly she shut her eyes. This was the dream, but she wanted to wake in it. She felt the shift in his desires with the roughness of his kiss. She wanted to surrender to it –let him wash away these dismal thoughts, but gradually she pulled away staring down at him with an unreadable expression. Her hair fell around them in a thick curtain that shaded her features from his sight, and he pushed some back so the light could reach her face and illuminate her thoughts. Still he couldn't understand the look in her eyes, but he didn't need to ask.

"I don't want to return," she whispered in barely a breath.

He softened with a sigh feeling the heated desire in his blood fade at the mention of tomorrow. He wasn't wary to face the next sunrise but the broad unending tomorrow that was waiting in Troy. He took her other cheek into his palm as well and promised, "You'll return with me."

"Your father won't allow it."

"He no longer has a say in this."

Her brow creased slightly more in doubt than confusion. "What will you do?"

"I'll marry you…" His eyes searched hers as those simple words sifted through both of them. Fantastical. Impossible. But he meant them. "...and bear the consequences."

"I don't want you to surrender your country or family for me. I'd never ask that of you."

"You haven't… But that doesn't mean I wouldn't."

"You've already sacrificed for me…"

"And you have for me."

"I'm tired of fighting, Hector."

He didn't see the defeat in her eyes, but he knew her to be stronger than maybe she even imagined. He understood her exhaustion for he felt it himself deeper than his bones. A war of many years, but he had been taught never to surrender –never to lose. There was renewed vigor in him after this night like this skinny young woman had given him strength. He felt invincible again but in a way so much more powerful than Merops could ever have foreseen. With her at his side, he could be destroyed but never defeated. "Then I'll fight for you."

She recognized that tone which didn't allow for objections, and for once she was wise or perhaps hopeful enough to listen. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth as the only sign of her lingering apprehension, but she gently nodded her head. He granted her a subtle smile to cut away the tension hanging over them. It wasn't welcome this morning. Not so early. "You're hungry," he recalled though his eyes still flickered with insatiable need, "for food."

"Yes, I need my strength." One corner of her mouth lifted sinfully to hint at what the remainder of the day held for the two, and seeing such a look from her travelled down his chest and abdomen and reawakened his want. His hand cupped the back of her head and pulled her down to crush her lips in an ardent kiss. His impulse was to flip her beneath him and satisfy his need, but he knew he would never lose his hunger for her. Reluctantly he ended his attack on her senses and noted she was limp in his arms with her eyes unfocused peering down at him. She looked absolutely lost in the wake of his lips like he had sucked the breath and reason from her in one fell attempt. He grinned and shifted her over to lie on the bed while he stood to see what there was to offer her. Her gaze followed after him to admire the long uninterrupted lines of his body from this angle while chewing thoughtfully on her lip; but her cheeks flushed in a bout of embarrassment as she realized what he had reduced her to, and she rolled onto her back to keep those thoughts away. Even such a simple move made her cringe, and she couldn't ignore the stiffness of her body settling deep into her muscles and making them grip her bones too tightly.

"I don't think I'll walk for days," she admitted as she acknowledged the extent of her soreness particularly centering between her legs. Her body was bruised and battered, but she had never felt so healed.

"That may be to my advantage." He was all jovial exchanges, quick wit responses, and unrestrained smiles that morning, and she had never realized until then how she had never seen that side of him before. Perhaps in bits and pieces, but there was always an air of responsibility and duty surrounding him to chase away such candor. One hand unconsciously fell down to rest on her abdomen and drew her attention by coincidence. On her back the surface was flat bordering sunken and making her hips jut out in a way she disliked. Stress and a lack of appetite during this last year had hardened her body, and her hand sat heavily on the space remembering the warmth of his release spreading within her and imagining a subtle, gentle mound there instead of a slight depression. Even picturing it in her mind she had this overwhelming sensation of peace and bliss like a vision of a future she had always dreamt of in secret. The weight of his hand awoke her from that reverie where it fell over her own and reminded her she would fight tooth and nail for him –for this. Initially he worried he had injured her, but when he saw her features relaxed and glowing in pure serenity, he realized it was the opposite. "What?"

She smiled gently but couldn't voice those complex emotions. It seemed like bad luck to think so optimistically when they hadn't yet taken the first step. "I have a nephew," she revealed instead. "He's so beautiful… His name is Antenor."

He had an intuition why the topic came to her mind but didn't acknowledge it while running his thumb over her hand. "You have me at a disadvantage."

"Why?"

"I'm the eldest… I've no nephews or nieces yet."

"And that is a disadvantage?" He didn't answer for the same reason she hadn't spoken truthfully with him earlier, but his silence was ripe with a response. She flushed subtly biting back a broader grin and sat up to steal a grape from the platter he brought for them. There was time for that, she hoped. The shift in conversation gave her a lighter perspective, and she broached a topic that had been itching at the back of her mind, "My brother says you wished to have him executed."

As she expected, his head dropped slightly as though to acknowledge a mistake. "I would not have ordered it."

"You threatened it… I warned you long ago he was a thorn in my side," she teased with another grape poised on her lips only because she knew Alkaios' life was safe from Hector.

"He saved my life."

"Truly? I thought he was exaggerating."

"We can't be sure," he conceded and flashed her a masculine grin. "But he killed a man who attacked me when I was unaware." At the mention his hand reached across to touch the back of his right shoulder where the scar was still fresh and subtly pink against his tan skin. It had been an angry wound that didn't wish to heal reopening again and again –due in part to his running into battle too soon. Patience unfortunately was not one of his virtues. Her small fingers pushed his aside to slide across the smooth skin slightly protruding from the rest.

"And you were angry with him for saving you?"

"No, no. I was grateful for his help, but when I ordered him to retreat before me, he refused."

"Disobedience is worth death?"

"In this case it could have resulted in his end and my own. I wouldn't sacrifice one of my men when it isn't necessary. He should have obeyed me."

"You're both alive," she murmured gently.

"Yes…" He rolled a grape between his thumb and forefinger as he remembered that night. The foul odor of flesh burning sifted through him, and he quickly sipped at the wine to overpower it. "He mentioned something interesting that night."

"He has many stories. Few of them are true."

"Then you'll tell me honestly if this is a fabrication or truth." He watched her innocently chew on another piece of fruit and offered his cup. "He said you asked for him to watch over me."

The memory had somehow evaded her, and now she flushed at having it revealed without her foresight and bent her head to drink in the hopes he wouldn't notice. "I never asked him. He was teasing me. He said he would keep an eye on you for me." Hector was smiling in pleasure to hear that she was concerned for him and likely deducing his own assumptions about her conversation, and that was the only reason she added, "I told him to look after himself. Clearly he didn't listen... I need to speak with the healer today."

"How is he faring?"

"Poorly." The reminder made her feel guilty for not thinking of him earlier in the morning. What manner of sister did that make her? Or what power did it give Hector to clear her thoughts so completely? "He is weak, but he has his wits about him it seems. His leg is what concerns me most. He says a piece of the dagger was left within, and that the healer must remove it before the wound will close. I don't know how long he's been suffering. I can't bear to see him like that."

"He won't suffer any longer," Hector promised without hesitation. After all, Alkaios would be a brother in time. "I'll see to it."

"Thank you… I should see him soon. I don't want him to be alone." Her gaze inevitably fell across the space where her torn dress was discarded on the floor. 'Will I walk about naked?'

His attention followed hers, and he smiled slyly shameless almost to see the evidence of his fervor. "A camp follower will have a needle and thread. You can take my cloak to cover you until we find something more suitable."

"How long will we be here?" She said it so casually like she were trying out the feel on her tongue, but their fates were easier linked in her words than their actions.

It wasn't lost on him, and he enjoyed the acknowledgment of their new reality. "A week. Two at the most. The last of the troops should arrive in a few days time. They'll rest, and we'll journey with them to Troy."

Her gaze lowered beneath the weight of her thoughts. "And after…?"

"I'm not sure yet." Their silence reached a breach of withheld words and thoughts, but Hector wouldn't fall victim to this potential turn of events. There was much for them to discuss and to plan, but this was not the end. 'This is not the end,' his mind repeated while his eyes drank her in the morning, bare save the mussed brown hair falling neglectfully down to her waist and across one shoulder. He remembered the curves and sinewy lines of her figure illuminated by warm candlelight that made her womanly and feel soft in his hands, but now that silhouette was accented with sharp angles of her collarbones and shoulders and hips. Those arms and legs so skinny where they folded around her that she seemed fragile, breakable, a betrayal to the power she had shown the night before. Where was that fighter now? Who had stolen it from her while he was away? An unconscious frown cut into his features, and he broached, "What did you wish to tell me last night?" Intuitively he knew whatever had caused her so much pain would no doubt ruin his light mood and make him wrought with fury, but he needed to know all the same whether to ease his own guilt or to name his adversary, for any enemy to her was his as well.

She wiped away the dark wine staining lips and stole what time she could to gather her thoughts and settle the divide arising from this topic. It would be therapeutic spilling her soul and finally being acknowledged for all that she had endured silently in his name, but her tongue caught thinking of Aeneas, Hector's cousin and closest friend. Would her experience sour his affections? There was a time Myrina would have knelt before Hector and begged for vengeance, but the memory of his face etched out of that darkness carved in jealously and pain with those silvery blue eyes so raw… What more did he deserve? She had delivered her own salvation with a punishment she knew well. "There is no need to speak of the past."

That frown shaded deeper into his face, his dark eyes hardening to tear down the wall she was drawing between them. His attention darted across her body for any obvious signs. No bruises. No lacerations. Her virtue was in tact before last night, but she had said… "Wolves," he murmured beneath his breath, and her eyes darted up too swiftly to meet his making him realize he had stumbled upon the truth. So it was. "Who?"

She could never hide from him and turned her eyes down in a poor attempt to protect the very man she should forsake. Subtly she shook her head keeping her gaze downcast for safe measure, but Hector shifted forward imposing himself in her space and furious over a fact she hadn't revealed yet. "You'll make too much of it."

"Shouldn't I?"

"You're already angry, and you don't even know what happened."

"I know enough."

Those blue-green eyes flashed beneath her lashes to sustain his gaze and challenge that pyre with her own. "You know nothing."

"Then tell me."

'You won't wish to know!' her mind screamed at him, but her lips drew a line across her face as she weighed the options. Already too much had been admitted for them to continue blissfully in this fashion. He would find out even if she did not tell him. It was his nature. "Not long after you left for war, my home was attacked by foreigners. I was told they were men from Cilicia –from when you had travelled to the border long ago." The soft crease in her brow spoke of her confusion. Hector had his own assumptions but kept his lips sealed while she continued, "I didn't truly understand… But whoever they were, they were unwelcome. We could hear the men of my village yelling out warnings. Telling everyone to keep inside. Korina was with me and Isidora as well… I remember hearing the screams of our neighbors from outside and not knowing what was happening. Korina looked so pale… So pale, and she was weeks from giving birth." Her voice quieted as she gathered her thoughts from momentarily losing herself in the vivid memory playing out in bits and pieces behind her eyes. The blurry focus of her distress clouding images and her adrenaline shooting through her that day to sharpen others. Their faces haunted her… "I told them to hide. I couldn't let them harm Isidora or Korina and her child. My father and brother were at sea. I was the only one who could protect them, and I told them to hide in the back room with the door blocked while I tried to send the men away… I knew it was dangerous and foolish, but I was-" Her eyes searched Hector's seeing his disapproval written so blatantly while her mind finished 'expendable.' "I had to protect them, but they broke through the door. Two of them. I had to keep them back –for my family's sake. I tried so hard fighting them off. I remember yelling, pushing, trying to force them back. Then Korina was screaming, but I couldn't tell where it was coming from. One of the men grabbed me, and I… Everything went black and quiet." Hector's features had turned to stone, his eyes as dark as onyx with his anger. It wasn't directed at her, but it hit a nerve making her look away, knowing the worst was yet to come. "When I awoke I had been taken. I thought by the men who broke into our home, but it was soldiers."

"What!" he hissed sharply in disbelief. "Soldiers of Troy?"

Her tone was dismal as she corrected, "Soldiers of Dardania."

Nothing more had to be said. Hector was on his feet pacing back and forth through the space, grumbling some curse beneath his breath and nearly shuddering with rage like he knew every minute detail of her stay in the city, but it was in his head. His worst nightmare playing out when he was unable to protect her. He was furious like he had never been before. "A wolf," he growled out thinking of his cousin's hands on her. When he was hungry for more, he turned to her and pressed, "What did he do?"

"He took me to the palace to heal…" Her breath came unevenly under the weight of Hector's gaze so penetrating and overpowering. It was stirring up old memories and old pains, and she was torn between the truth and a dismissal of the topic. "He lied to me," she confessed in a short exhale, but her voice still broke. "He told me I couldn't be taken home because it was too dangerous –that the men were still out there… I didn't know what had become of Isidora or Korina. I was so afraid of what had happened to them, but he wouldn't let me go. Isidora told me later he had sent a messenger to them telling them where I was and that I was happy. I had no idea."

"What did he do?" he repeated mechanically the weight of his temper filling the interior until she was suffocating beneath it. She barely noticed the impact of a warm tear on her knee, but his muscles flexed like it were a violation to him, a deep treachery, an act of treason. He wanted to ride to the Dardanian palace without resting to personally tear Aeneas limb from limb, but watching the tears line her eyes, it stole his strength and made his arms twitch for want of reaching to circle her. He was caught between and stood stiffly staring mesmerized and infuriated.

"He was the one who told me of the engagement… I couldn't believe it. I've never… I've never experienced pain like that." At the thought her hand instinctively covered her heart surprised to feel it beating as strongly as ever after it had been torn apart. Despite the tears in her eyes, she gazed at Hector and promised him, "He never hurt me. What he did was wrong, but he meant to care for me. He was kind to me and looked after me no matter how I lashed at him." The sharp tense lines of his silhouette warned her he was still furious even with this assertion, and a sickening dread fell in her gut like a block of ice turning her blood cold and sending shivers across her skin. She had never seen that dead haunting look in his eyes like they unleashed his violence with relish. The chestnut eyes she loved now cold, strange, and unfamiliar. "He did not betray you. I withheld the truth for too long… But I told him it was you. He sent me away the next day. He never betrayed you."

Finally his head turned swiveling above those broad shoulders to gaze toward the entryway and toward Troad. The intensity of his eyes were so powerful she wondered if Aeneas didn't feel them burning into him. She shifted from the bed and padded toward him softly. Her hands rested on his hips while her lips nestled in the center of his chest pressing heavily where she could feel the powerful repercussion of his heartbeat. Her wet cheeks stained his chest, and she couldn't be certain which touch broke him. But his arms circled her tenderly, and she recognized the damp heat of his mouth caressing her forehead along her hairline until he reached her temple. He bent farther lowering his face beside her ear where he admitted, "I'm sorry I wasn't there to protect you." It brought fresh tears warm and sticky to her eyes, and she buried her face into his chest shamefully –for being so weak and for lashing at him viciously yesterday.

"Don't punish him," she pleaded.

"He's my cousin." Hector inhaled the scent of her hair turning into those curls to enjoy it more fully and feeling the rush of her through him to calm the last of his fury. Only she had the power to bring him such simple peace, and holding her naked and crying to him, he promised, "It won't happen again."

She smiled in relief and tilted her head back with her hair falling across his arms, but she needed to test the allure of his words with a question, "When will we tell my father?"

"When we return… I'd like to see him, not send a messenger."

"Make sure he sits," she advised and laughed softly. "He'll be so pleased. He's tried to marry me off too many times to count."

"And you declined?" he wondered with a hint of admiration.

"I could never be with anyone else." An uncomplicated resolution to years of complications. In her heart, she wondered if she hadn't loved him since the first time they met.

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**Author's Note**: Hello dolls! A short chapter, I know, but I didn't want to overwhelm it with outside matters. It was a slice of the haven they made inside his tent, and in the next chapter, they'll address all the other crap when they return to Troy. Myrina will even have a chance to speak with Priam, so that'll be fun :)

Thanks to AmyLNelson, Syrena Swift, klandgraf2007, and XoXMaximumCulleNXoX!

Amy: Too long haha I'm so glad you approved of Hector... Who doesn't like a manly man to be 'you are my woman' haha And I'm also glad you liked Myrina being feisty toward him. I know this chapter wasn't too exciting, but I didn't feel it needed to be. Lysander was funny though haha Hope you still liked it, gorgeous xoxo

Syrena: Omg I totally laughed out loud when I read your review! I've missed my dose of Rosie :) I know you've been waiting for it a long time. Wasn't it just yesterday you were threatening me if I didn't get them together and make some babies? hahaha I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well! ;)

klandgraf: Well hello! Hector not react well to her stay in Dardania? What? He's unjealous and unprotective of his girl pssssshhhh. Total lie. But I'm going to give him a chance to talk to Aeneas at the wedding! As to the stick up Aeton's ass... Still present, but he's gunna get a rude wake up call seeing his little sister marry Hector! I love taking know-it-alls down a notch haha I hope you liked this chapter :D

Maximum: Short and sweet. I dig it :) I hope you enjoyed reading this one too! xoxo


	37. A King's Decision

Chapter 36  
"A King's Decision"

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Recommended Songs: "The Cave" – Mumford & Sons & "One and Only" – ADELE

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High atop the lustrous white stone walls of Troy one of the bronze bells resonated three powerful notes that echoed through the streets within and out across the plains where the army was approaching. It rang once to alert the townspeople and royalty, again to open the gates, and a final time to welcome them home. Like a mother brings a child against her breast so Troy opened to them. The heralds led the way carrying the royal hallmark of Troy high on their posts, some foot soldiers followed, and Hector was swept inside soon after donning a proud smile to see his countrymen line the streets and celebrate the return of their Crown Prince with the last of the troops. He lifted his hand to recognize their support and glanced to his left where she rode anxiously beside him. A superstition had struck him after catching her in his arms again, and he wouldn't release her from his sight for so long as to return her home. Home. This was her home now –beside him. His attention shifted down the street to the palace shining brightly beneath the sun where it rose high in the center of the city and imagined his father staring down on them infuriated by Hector's insistence to present his betrothed before his people. His grin lifted substantially, and he noted the gossips perched upon the rooftop of a nearby building chattering on behind their hands. He wished to call to them, 'Spread this news you loose-lipped women that Hector, Prince of Troy, returns from Cilicia with his bride!' Instead he nodded his head to them causing another eruption of whispers like chickens disrupted momentarily and nervously settling back in their group.

Myrina had been sucked into the city with the pressure of the army contracting around them to funnel through the gates and up the main street. All too late did she realize the throngs of townspeople gathered to meet them, and there was no space for her to turn her horse or at least slip from Hector's side. She had developed her own superstition against displaying their relationship so flagrantly. It felt too soon. Surely only bad luck could follow. Her heart was thundering in her chest as she tried to take in the crowd gathered, but every face was foreign and that of a stranger. The colors seemed too bright, their calls too loud, the street too hot. Her black cloak was still drawn around her narrow shoulders out of modesty more than a chill. Hector had found a gown to replace her ripped peasant dress before they left the outpost on the border. It was dark copper and styled in the fashion of the Trojan dresses she had seen but not nearly so ornate. There were no jewels hanging from it or beautiful trimming, but there was a lovely embroidered pattern in gold thread where it fastened at the shoulders. It was the sort of gown she imagined a merchant's daughter might wear, but she had no jewelry to accompany it –not even that Thracian shell necklace she had once loved so dearly. Part of her hoped the cloak could shield her from those endless pairs of eyes, but there was no hiding beside Hector. With his hand raised and lips parted in a smile, he practically beckoned them.

Her instinct was to glue her chin to her collarbones and keep her gaze on her horse's mane, but showing weakness and insecurity was not an option. How then could she prove she was worthy of him? Her jaw set tensely where it was parallel to the ground, her eyes locked straight ahead of them, and her shoulders were squared atop her straight spine. Around them the crowds shifted restlessly, and soldiers kept the lines at bay. It occurred to her that this was what made a nation. These people proclaiming their love for a man they didn't know, and Hector looking upon them with as much love as though each of their faces bore the resemblance of a brother or sister. What a powerful feeling being in the center of it, and the awe and admiration tore her attention away from her stoic purpose. Her eyes landed on his profile, and she watched him interact with his people while they showered flowers upon him. It felt surreal and magnificent, and she was as much a spectator as the rest, enthralled by his charisma. He recognized her gaze over the others and shifted to sustain it. 'How have you been so lucky to have him?' she asked herself. He called something to her, but she couldn't discern it over the volume of the crowds. She shook her head and lifted two fingers to touch her ear, and he seemed to understand. Still he smiled, and it felt so much wider surrounded by his dark beard.

It was a short eternity before they were within the palace gates. Servants took their horses, and Myrina followed him up a wide set of stairs toward a level she had never seen. Of course that wasn't difficult to manage. There was so much of the palace she hadn't seen. With her dress gathered in her hands, she remained a step or two behind Hector feeling safer from this position where he would engage anyone first, but he glanced over his shoulder from time to time back at her whether to check on her nerves or simply to be sure she hadn't strayed. Each time their gazes locked for a silent exchange since no words had fallen between them after they entered Troy. She was too nervous to speak, and he couldn't decide what he should say to her. Ascending the steps she almost thought she could overpower her anxiety like it were all a matter of will, but when they reached the summit and she saw the people gathered there, she forgot her courage instantly. Hector's pace hastened, and she struggled to catch up for fear of being left behind while recognizing the faces as those of his family. One particularly tall and slender man rushed forward before all the rest and embraced Hector tightly. 'Paris,' she presumed and couldn't help smiling at the seeing the two brothers reunited.

Hector took a step back to take in his younger sibling, and he taunted, "You haven't changed the slightest."

"Mother says I've grown," Paris threw back stubbornly, and as a testament his head now reached Hector's nose.

"She's indulging you," he assured him and laughed. Paris' attention shifted past his brother to the young woman lingering a pace behind them, and a giant smile broke out across his face when he recognized her though she shyly looked away. Perhaps Paris wasn't as dull as gossips suggested, and he turned to Hector to confirm her presence. Unfortunately the eldest prince had caught sight of his father lingering beneath the shade of the canopy and waiting to speak with him. The hand resting on Paris' shoulder tightened, and Hector nodded meaningfully toward Myrina before clapping him a final time and setting off to meet the King of Troy and the rest of his family.

Myrina moved to follow him, but Paris sidestepped into her path and smiled warmly down at her again. "You must be thirsty from the journey," he said as an offer, and she tensed when his fingers touched her elbow. It was only to guide her down an offshoot while he chatted about how he had never travelled so far, how he much preferred life within the palace walls, and how his father favored Hector. She might have found his open charm and loose tongue amusing if she weren't so preoccupied looking over shoulder where she watched Hector's back disappear behind a corner.

"Father," Hector said after he had greeted his other family and now approached old King Priam who welcomed him with open arms. He could nearly smell the air of disappointment radiating off his father, but in his soldier's uniform he felt prepared for any battle.

"Hector," Priam returned in a measured tone. "You received my message?"

"Yes, I implemented the changes you requested."

He nodded his approval even as he pale blue gaze moved to follow the young woman Paris was leading away. "And you returned with company."

"I returned with a wife," he said stiffly.

Those icy eyes slid back to his son's features, and Priam noted, "Not yet."

Hector maintained his gaze with unwavering determination. "I won't argue with you on this matter. It's no longer your decision to make."

"Spare me your imprudence." He turned and led them within the vestibule which opened to the royal quarters and toward his chambers where they would have more privacy. No need for the servants to gossip about any more of this than they already would. "You're not yet king, Hector. It is my responsibility to protect Troy's sovereignty through my line, and I won't have you corrupt it with a village girl."

"Any son she bears is mine. You find that corrupt?"

"The Princess of Cilicia wasn't to your liking… Very well." Soon they entered the King's atrium at the exterior of his quarters where there was a plentiful garden and room for him to receive guests. Priam dismissed the servants with a wave of his land and turned once more to his son. "I recognize your judgment on this matter. Pick any princess you please. I'll have the negotiations handled forthwith."

"I've chosen my bride."

His expression was relaxed almost bored looking like they had exhausted every outlet of this conversation. "You parade her through my city like your trophy and expect me to bow."

"It is my city as well. They should know their future princess."

"I won't allow a crown of Troy to touch her head."

"Then forfeit a son." The four words resonated so powerfully they shifted the energy of the space in an instance. Where his features were fatigued, they now sharpened with hawkish intent settling into a familiar expression that had broken Hector when he was a child. He swallowed heavily but met that look without bending the slightest. "I won't argue with you."

"You think it significant to abandon this for love… What glory is there in surrendering your country? Your arrogance is an insult to Troy!"

"What is so noble in a loveless union? You've been blessed with many sons, father. Paris is still young enough for you to train."

"The gods didn't grant Paris the mentality of a King. He is a lord among women perhaps, but he cannot wield a sword or command an audience."

"He'll win wars by wooing our enemies' daughters."

"Don't mock me."

"Then Deiphobus or Helenus or Polydorus-"

"Enough!" he interrupted sharply. "It is treason to threaten the King."

"You've handed me the tools to follow in your line, yet you do not trust me to command them. Instead you accuse me of treason for disobeying your wishes and refuse any responsibility for my judgment." A muscle in his jaw flexed to betray his increasing frustration. "This is the son you raised… Are you so ashamed?"

It halted Priam in his tracks and nearly broke a father's conviction to hear such words come from his child's mouth. "I'm ashamed by the man she draws out of you. Your behavior in Cilicia was detestable."

"You put me in that position! You knew it was never my wish to marry her."

"The fault is mine then? I suppose the wrong in every child is the sin of a neglectful parent."

"There's no fault in correcting a wrong."

"I've conceded, Hector. You may choose any princess you like. King Acamas would be interested, and the allegiance of the tribes of Thrace is particularly valuable."

The final line was drawn, and Hector could shoulder no more. "Don't overlook this like everything else in my life!" The words fell from his tongue sharper than his dagger's edge. "I have never betrayed you, father. I've followed your orders without a single word of a reproach. Tell me why you cannot grant me this. Tell me why you find her inadequate."

Priam's eyes shifted in an unnamed challenge to meet his son's abrupt show of anger, and suspicion flooded Hector at the sight. "You're certain she is your match?"

"Yes."

"Bring her to me."

"You've no reason to speak with-"

"It wasn't a question, Hector," Priam interrupted and settled comfortably on a stone bench. "These are my terms."

Despite the dismissal, he stood tensely before his father not trusting the old man as far as he could throw him and almost wishing this war of words had transferred to physicality. That was a battle he could win with ease, but he was realizing increasingly from whom he had inherited his stubborn streak. Neither would bend, and what then was left? "You won't speak crudely to her," he commanded as more of a threat, and his eyes bore into his father to sear the words.

Priam waved him off as though he were swatting away a pest. "Call her. I've little patience for this matter. You're convinced of her character then I will grant her the opportunity of my presence, but my decision is final." He motioned toward the exit and pressed, "Now."

Partly he wanted to stand his ground in pertinacity, but such a show of dominance would hinder, not help them. Nearly growling beneath his breath at his own impotence, he turned and strode out of the space to find Paris and Myrina. Minutes later he returned with Myrina trailing safely a pace or two behind him, and Priam straightened to see the young woman threatening Hector's succession. Beside Hector, she appeared petite and slender now removed from the black cloak that had swallowed her, and she presented the oddest of contrasts against his son's preeminence concentrated in his uniform. They both paused before him, and while Hector's stance challenged him, she respectfully kept her attention downcast.

"That will be all, Hector," he murmured with his eyes still appraising her like a merchant determining her worth.

The young prince didn't so much as blink, and Priam shot him a sharp warning look to be heeded. He exhaled uneasily and shifted away with a reluctance and distrust Priam could almost taste, and Myrina barely turned her head to follow Hector's exit with her eyes. 'Where is your shield now?' the King wondered dryly. He had no need to be ferocious or pitiless, but this game had continued on long enough.

"What is your name?"

"Myrina, daughter of Diokles."

"What right do you have to my son?" he asked sharply though not in malevolence, but it set the tone for their conversation. If she reserved any doubts about his tolerance, she understood now he would try to undercut her as swiftly as possible and force his own agenda.

She was intimidated for no other reason than his stature and her innate sense of her social inadequacy, but she needed to stop thinking like that if she wished to prove herself worthy of Hector. "None…" she admitted as though she were revealing a fact she wished weren't such. "But what right do any of us have to another?"

"The Fates have woven our paths, child. There is a right and wrong in every action and every individual."

"You're insulted by my station… And the right I lack from birth, but is it not more telling what you earn than what you're given?"

"You suggest you deserve a place beside him, a crown of Troy, and the affluence of our rank. I recognize the interest in my son." The weight of his words were intended to cut her down like he were a father scorning some childish fancy. She was made painfully aware of her dirty nails and curled her hands to hide them, but she refused to show any further insecurity.

"For you they're one and the same, but my only interest is Hector. Even if it meant a life of poverty, a house with one room, days tiring over work… By my birth, I don't need your palace or your crown or your riches. I've never had them, and I've found happiness without them."

"Hector is Troy as Troy is Hector. You cannot separate the two. It is the legacy of royalty, and the price each king has paid. To lead through a life in service. He's toiled for years to rise after me, and I won't let a village girl spoil it."

"I could never spoil something Hector loves as much as his country or his countrymen," she hesitated before continuing in a softer tone, "and if you think he were so weak as to let me, I doubt you know your son."

"I never said my son was weak." It was a swift rebuff as though she had insulted him and a salient flash of his power. It silenced her without further words. "He's stubborn, bullheaded even, but I know what man I've raised… I also know the influence of a woman."

"I have no influence," she assured him but regretted making herself sound so common.

"You deny your power?" Priam's brow was knit in a frown, but it didn't daunt her because she saw Hector in that face. "He could have broken a powerful alliance with Cilicia rejecting their engagement days before the wedding. That was foolishness and ill-placed importance."

"I never asked him to do that-"

"You never had to… That is your power, and the power of every woman who catches a man's eye and heart." He bowed his head momentarily, and she swore she heard him mumble, "Sirens among us."

"You worry Hector will make poor choices for me because you believe Hector made a poor choice in choosing me." It came out too wordy, and she immediately chastised herself for that.

Priam bound before she could continue, attacking in her moment of weakness to finish this business. "I was not far from Hector's age when I was first married," he commented, and her tongue caught for lack of an appropriate response. After a tense moment, he continued, "I soon realized there is much more to a marriage than love however pure it is. Why does any prince or princess marry?" Her lips remained sealed, and he smiled ironically. "Not for love. It is for acquisition of wealth and influence." He spelled the words out carefully as though it were the lesson for her this day. "Power is not in men's words. It is in action, in union, in pacts formed. It is an opportunity for alliances to be forged where both countries prosper. There are contracts drawn up to ensure this. The family of Hector's bride would receive a bride price and an assurance that she would be cared for if she were widowed. We would receive a portion in return among other concessions… It may be easiest for you to see it as a transaction. Each country pays a price, but the reward is not the marriage. The reward is the merging of powers, the influence gained, and the prestige. Any woman can bear my son an heir. Love can be learned. But power… it is a birth right and crucial." Her gaze had fallen, and he bent forward to be sure her defeat was complete. "You understand now? You are a loss."

She frowned heavily to be given such a burden while he eradicated her entire sense of self in one attempt, but she realized it was so simple. Neither Hector's words nor her own could ever sway Priam because her station would never change. So infuriatingly simple. "I am not," she said with such influence as she rose along her spine lifting herself further up into the space as if she grew before Priam's very eyes. "You speak as if Troy will fall tomorrow without a suitable match for Hector. I do not have a kingdom to my name or have an appropriate portion to give you, but I know that Troy is lacking neither of those. Hector speaks of your alliances, the ones that every King of Troy has worked to maintain, and I see the richness of this country. How many ports do you claim, how many legions of armies, how many pieces of gold do you have at your beck and call?" Her tongue was getting away with her, and she gathered her wits as demurely as she could. "I may not yet understand court customs or the discipline of royal life, but I know Troy. I've seen the people till the earth, I've watched the fishermen returning with their catches, I've spoken with the merchants in the market… I understand the foundations that your crown is built upon because I am a servant of Troy. Is that not more advantageous than what a princess of Cilicia or any other country can offer?"

The simple wisdom in her words made old Priam reluctantly take a step back to abandon his offensive stance. His anger deflated in a slow exhale while his gaze remained steady on her, but she felt the shift from biting through her to something much more neutral. Was the Great King of Troy retreating? To her? He realized she was less a threat to his empire than a young woman blindly in love with his son, and in light of this he pointed out, "You are offering yourself to this position when you do not even understand the responsibilities or implications."

"I don't need to." She couldn't miss the sore look from Priam and undoubtedly he assumed she had misunderstood their entire conversation. She quickly explained, "Hector will rule in the service of Troy, and as his wife, I'll act in his service." Her pride turned despite herself, and she admitted, "I may not be a submissive woman."

"Hector would not have one," Priam grumbled more to himself than Myrina, but it drove her on like a spur in her side.

"But it is not submissive to love. I've learned that finally. I will be what he needs of me and give him whatever I can. I'll support him and care for him until my body is burned… If Hector wants what is best for Troy, and I want what is best for him, how can that be an unwise union?"

She nearly watched the words pass her lips, but they never seemed to make an impact. His features remained slack almost with a void absence, but the abruptness of his eyes sharpened out of his face so that she was mesmerized with their raw presence like an open door giving her a glimpse of what lay within. No amount of courtesy or manners could tear her attention away, and she was waiting anxiously for the crack, the thunder to echo the flare of his eyes. But it never came. A heavy sky looming in absolute silence. The air was dense with the threat. And when it felt like her patience could bear no more, he returned from a journey inward to memories or thoughts or questions she wouldn't ever name or understand. "Very well. You have my blessing."

For her, time broke in that second. The end of her breath, the halting of her heart, the numbness of her mind, the pressure of her eyes trying to witness something they had never expected, and the rest of her was lost in the space between. One steady beat in her chest, and it all caught up with a siege of senses taking in the heat, the smell, the breeze, the weight of her dress… It took her too long to formulate the words, but when they were spoken, she realized it wasn't her voice.

"Your word?" She twisted to look behind her where none other than Hector had brazenly stepped out from his hiding place. She should have known he wouldn't leave her, but he was looking past her to his father seated on the bench.

"Yes," Priam breathed in defeat, and though there was no joy to his voice, it didn't matter. "We'll have a feast tonight to celebrate." Now those chestnut eyes burned into her, and the happiness springing up unhindered within her was magnified so much more intensely to see it reflected in his eyes and feel it mutually with him. A final victory among them, and she doubted she would ever cease smiling. Years from now, and the absolute satisfaction of this moment would be still be branded across her face. She could cry if she had the will to do, but for the life of her she was too happy to do anything but smile. Priam watched the tension building between them and fought back an askew grin of his own as he decided brusquely, "Rejoice outside this space. I've much to plan and discuss."

There was no need to tell them again, and she approached him nearly shaking from the effort to keep herself from running like she had never before to him. The space felt like an eternity, but when she reached him, he grabbed her elbow and drew her out into the corridor. As soon as they were out of earshot he turned to her, catching her face now so that he could see her properly, and she couldn't understand the amazement lining his eyes. "I heard every word. I've never heard you speak like that."

She smiled guiltily and admitted, "I'm not even sure what I said." The tension of the moment had weighed too heavily on her. Whatever fell her lips came from deep within her conscious. She could never have imagined she had the strength to face a king like that.

"I'll never forget," he promised and guided her further down the hallway, and she tried to push through the shock still wrapped around her mind to speak.

"How did you know he would not see you?"

"I had help." They turned a corner, and there was Paris leaning against the wall with a scowling, thoughtful look.

The minute his eyes landed on them he sprung forward and pressed, "What did he say?"

The grin never left Hector's features, but it widened even more as his arm circled his brother's shoulders affectionately, drawing Paris against him so forcefully and roughly that the younger man struggled to maintain his balance and not collapse completely to the floor. "You'll have another sister soon."

"I knew it!" Paris perked up beneath the oppressive weight of Hector's arm, circling the dense muscle with his hands to try and leverage it away. Hector held on tighter close to catching Paris' head in his arm like they might spar or wrestle in the middle of the hallway. She grinned to see them so rowdy and elated like her two brothers had once been. Paris somehow twisted himself free using his slender build to weasel out of tight spaces while Hector's muscular body was made to face obstacles. "I've spent years listening to his conversations."

"I'll know where to look," Hector threatened, reaching again to grab his brother.

Paris narrowly dodged it, and where Hector was good-naturedly sparring, Paris was not nearly so lighthearted. He knew too well how easily Hector could overpower him. "I've plenty of positions to choose from."

Finally Hector caught him not pausing before he fit him into the crook of his elbow, and Myrina couldn't help laughing to see Paris writhing to free himself. "Why can you not put this strategy to good use, little brother?" he chided paternally.

"And outwit you daily?" His throat constricted as Hector's bicep flexed, but Paris wouldn't stop yet. "The thought hadn't occurred to me." The pressure grew around his neck, and he tapped Hector's arm to be released.

He straightened out his robes and donned his most perturbed expression, and Myrina stepped forward to take both his hands in her own, squeeze them tightly, and say, "Thank you."

She could hardly believe her eyes to see the young man's cheeks subtly darken before her, and he ducked his head sheepishly though he was grinning in a childish way. "I did nothing worthy of your gratitude."

"I'm happy you did anything at all, and I assume it means I have your approval as well?"

He straightened abruptly empowered by the importance her words gave him, and she knew she had won him over if she hadn't before. His gaze travelled down the length of her in a manner he must have thought was menacing, but the nervous, excited energy lingering in his doe eyes made him anything but. "Yes," he decided with a firm nod once his attention returned to her face, and he squeezed her hands as well. "I could use another sister, and I'll make a wonderful uncle."

Myrina laughed lightly and fought off a blush of her own at the mention, giving Hector a sidelong glance, but he was ready with a quit-witted response, "My child? You won't be allowed near him."

"You can't do that!"

"I can."

Paris retrieved his hands and pointed accusingly at his older brother. "You're worried they'll like me more, aren't you? They will!"

"Because you are a child as well? I agree."

"No," he snapped back in annoyance.

"Are you two always like this?" Myrina spoke up curiously.

"No," Paris answered with a charming smile thrown her way. "Usually he's too busy to be bothered. Nevermind the war. I barely recognized him this afternoon. I haven't seen him in years!" Hector smacked him roughly on the back of the head to shut him up, but he wasn't deterred so easily. "And _now_ I doubt I'll ever see him." The cheeky comment wasn't missed by his older brother whose look hardened immediately, and Paris backed off before he pushed any farther. "Shall I tell Cassandra and Deiphobus and the others?"

"It will be announced at supper," he rejoined with a much more solemn tone, still evidently annoyed that his brother had insinuated such a comment toward his bride -even if it were true.

"Then you'll stay?"

Myrina turned to Hector and commented with a hint of reluctance, "We must tell my father, and I should spend what time before the ceremony with them."

"Yes," he agreed in a similar tone. "It's only proper." 'But soon,' he thought, 'soon I won't let you go.'

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**Author's Note**: Hello lovelies! My goodness! Feel free to make fun of me, but I totally got writer's block in that conversation with Myrina and Priam. I like outwitted myself, and just stared at the argument thinking, 'RATS! Be smarter, Nola!' haha Guess what's next? Nice day for a white wedding, anyone? :)

Thanks to AmyLNelson, klandgraf2007, Syrena Swift, Avatar2009, KawaiiHawaiian, and MoonlitSorrows! You guys are the greatest 3

Amy: Hey gorgeous! You're always first. I love that :D I'm so glad you like Lysander haha I kinda love him too, and I also don't know why since as you pointed out he really has not been developed at all. But he's such a likable guy. Myrina met Paris! Was it all you hoped for? haha I hope you enjoyed this chapter xoxo

klandgraf: And here's another! ;)

Syrena: You're so adorable haha Babies will come after the wedding cause I'm old fashioned all... Well not really. They did already beat everyone to the punch line, but what has two thumbs and doesn't care? This chick! Hope you liked this update! :)

Avatar: My mysterious lady come back from beyond haha First time and make up sex all rolled into one. That does sound kinda nice doesn't it? Just re-read the chapter and pretend it's you haha I encourage that fully, and I take your attraction to Hector as a compliment. I'll try to keep that up ;) Hope you enjoyed this chapter xoxo

Kawaii: Dialogue junkie! Does this count as a happy ending? Ignore the first paragraph of the prologue. Never happened haha I hope you liked this chapter! :)

Moonlit: You're too sweet! Thank you so much haha This was soon, right? Thanks for the support, and I hope you enjoyed this one! xoxo


	38. Crossroads

Chapter 37  
"Crossroads"

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Recommended songs: "Nuvole bianche" – Ludovico Einaudi & "Let It Be Me" – Ray LaMontagne

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The High Priest and his subordinates left early that morning in search of the omens that would mark this day, and no matter the amount of planning that hinged on the day's festivities, only his announcement of a good omen would allow them to continue on as planned. If not, sacrifices would be made, prayers sent to various gods, and they would try again in a day or two. Myrina had no patience for that as she stood on the small balcony of her borrowed quarters which faced the east, and she could make out Mount Ida's interruption of the skyline as morning light fell from the heavens. Already she had waited a lifetime for this very moment, and she couldn't allow even the possibility of a bad omen to ruin her day. Beyond nerves, joy, or excitement, she was consumed by a starving and insatiable impatience –for this day to pass, for night to bind their lives together, and for her to finally see Hector again. How many hours had it been since she arrived at the palace yesterday? And how many days before that? They were separated sooner than she wished, but it was custom. The night before the wedding, each went through a ritual cleansing, a mixture of herbs and oils scrubbed into the skin and hair and then rinsed away with water poured down their skin. It was a very old custom that few modern couples continued, but she found that royalty often equated tradition and heritage. Even in the morning breeze she could catch the waft of scent coming from her, the soothing mixture of earthy herbs and musky oil.

"Myrina!" Isidora called from within the room, and the young woman stepped back inside donning only her sleeping gown and an overwhelming smile.

"I'm glad you've come," she rejoined earnestly since the company of the servants who lingered around was hardly comforting. "Did you sleep well?"

"I would have fared better in my own bed," she murmured with her typical tenacity, but Myrina could see by the way she walked the usual morning tension in her old bones was absent, so she knew it was a lie.

"I could hardly sleep. I was waiting for Apollo to awake. He moves too slowly today."

"You shouldn't say such things on this day. Give the gods no reason to look poorly on your marriage," she chided maternally and shifted across the room toward the dressing table. "You are the one who is moving slowly. Now come and sit. We must begin."

"We have until the evening."

"Custom takes time, Myrina," she pressed with a hint of discontent while patting the seat, "and the King has found any excuse to maintain tradition."

"It is considered proper," she countered defensively if only because it was _her _wedding, and she settled into the small stool in front of the table. Isidora took one of the combs to her hair, painstakingly brushing out every tangle from her curls –like she had when Myrina was a small child.

"It is unnecessary."

A pensive silence fell between them save the sound of the comb running through Myrina's hair, and inevitably her mind reflected on the nature of the day and Isidora's presence. "Thank you," she said softly.

"It is tradition," she commented, assuming Myrina meant this task.

"I would not have asked anyone else." Isidora's hand stilled as she realized it was gratitude of a whole other nature, and she drew in a shaky breath causing Myrina to twist and look at her. Isidora's hand fell onto her round shoulder with a new tension to her wrinkled features that Myrina had not seen in years. Her hand covered the soft worn skin, and she smiled gently. "I'm glad you're here with me."

"I'm honored you asked me." She reclaimed her hand before anymore was said between them, and her visage could crack. It was too soon in the day for tears. Her hands now shook slightly as she combed out the curls, but Myrina didn't speak a word about it. A custom that every woman observed was the bride's mother dressing her on her wedding day, but for lack of a mother, Myrina had asked the closest option.

It guided her thoughts down an entirely knew path, and she drew one leg up to her chest, resting her heel on the edge of the stool and wrapping her arms loosely around her shin. "Do you think they can see us… so long after their bodies are burned?"

"I hope so. I'll need to keep both eyes on you and Alkaios years after I'm gone."

"And not Aeton as well?"

"Aeton has his son and a fair wife. He's still young enough to think he knows all. He'll learn soon that he hasn't one bit of sense in his head… And then he'll want to speak with you to right those wrongs. Mark my words."

"I'm not angry with him."

"You're a woman. We remember those who've wronged us 'til our deaths, but it is in our nature to forgive. Men may call it weakness, but that is because they don't understand the strength in kissing your enemy's hand."

It served as a reminder for her, and she bowed her head as she confessed, "I'm sorry… For all the terrible things I've said to you and the way that I've treated you. You're the closest thing I have to a mother, but I've not treated you with such kindness."

"You don't need to apologize to me, Myrina." Isidora paused indefinitely before setting the comb aside and deciding, "Love makes you act irrationally. I should have trusted you."

"You had no reason to. I was a child when we met. I didn't understand what I was doing."

"The truth is simple. That's why babes never lie. You may not have understood, but you knew."

"I did." Her thoughts drifted off, and without warning she smiled slyly and pointed out, "You never liked him."

"I didn't like the trouble he brought… Sly, reckless, and selfish like all young men. I've had plenty of years to watch them and learn their ways. But he's more dangerous than the rest. He's the Crown Prince, and he knew what he was dragging to your doorstep."

"He will be my husband."

"_Now_, but not for nothing. Don't think I've forgotten the tears this man cost you."

"He was worth every one."

"You're soon to be newly wed. You can't be reasoned with. Speak with me in a year or two, and you'll know the price of a marriage."

Myrina twisted in her seat to peer up at the old servant with an ambivalent gaze. "Are you happy for me?"

"Of course."

"Then why not smile with me? Celebrate with me?" She took both Isidora's hands in her own and brought them near to her chest as if the woman could feel her erratic heartbeat. "I've never been so happy, Isidora."

"That is why I fear… Such happiness isn't meant for mortals."

"Like princes aren't meant to befriend common folk?"

"You've tested the rules once. Do not be so proud as to think you'll fair as well the second time."

"Please, no more talk of this. Walk with me. I want to show you something." Still grasping one of Isidora's hands, she guided her toward the door.

"Myrina, you cannot be seen outside like this."

"It will only be for a moment."

Isidora grabbed one of the blankets from the bed and thrust it toward her. "At least put this around you. You cannot behave like a village girl anymore."

If only to quiet her, Myrina draped it around her, and the pair left her quarters and softly padded down the corridor where a garden was situated in an atrium at their left. She stood between two of the columns gazing out across that well tended greenery and said, "Isn't it beautiful? They are all over the palace. Many larger than this… It reminds me of the garden my mother once kept."

Isidora did not comment and remained at the entry even as Myrina entered the space and bent to smell one of the crocuses. When she straightened, she turned to Isidora with her hands clasped before her. "Hector said you can stay. Here."

The weight of her eyes shifted though her tone remained calm. "Who would look after your father and brother? They haven't an idea how to cook on their own."

"I could have a new servant care for father. And Alkaios will live in Troy to carry out his duties as a soldier, and he'll find a wife soon. Why not live with me? You could be happy here."

"I don't belong here."

"Of course you do." Myrina moved to stand before Isidora and smiled gently. "You're part of my family."

"He's your family now. That is what it means to be a wife." Isidora reached to grasp Myrina's chin between her thumb and forefinger, holding her in place so that her old eyes could appraise the young woman she had partly raised. "In a few hours time, you will be a Princess of Troy, Myrina."

Her gaze didn't waver as she promised, "I am a daughter first."

Isidora's features crinkled with the rise of her smile, seen more in the warmth of her dark eyes than elsewhere, and she gently nodded her approval. "Never forget that. No matter the riches you assume or the number of those who bow to you… Remember you bowed first. Humility is powerful."

"I don't think I'll ever forget."

"Good girl." Isidora released the firm grip on her chin and turned with her smile fading. "We must finish. There is still much to be done." Without a word of disagreement, Myrina followed Isidora to her quarters where a company of servants had arrived with all assortments of things to prepare her. So began her wedding day.

—

_Uneasy, restless, impatient… Such a torrent consumed her body making it impossible for her to stand still. Rather, she paced up and down the length of her room, but considering the small size of the space, her own pace grew too swift making her even more anxious by nature. Isidora sat stoic as always on the bed, the statue of peace weathering Myrina's storm, and her lips had closed in a flat line since she long abandoned trying to calm the young woman looking as though she were waiting the decree of her death sentence. Impulsively Myrina rushed to the door, placed her ear against it, and held her breath while she strained to make sense of the tones on the other side. She recognized the resonance of Hector's baritone contrasting her father's weaker, aged voice. The slow back and forth made her more aware of her racing heart, and she fled back into the space of her room to resume her pacing with Isidora's beady eyes following her movement every second. The house was so calm and cool this evening, but like the copper dress she was still donning, she seemed to assume the heat of the day, burning with her own unrest. The flame torched too brightly. She would crumble to ash if her father said…_

_ "No," she murmured decidedly under her breath and shook her head to mark that intent. Still her hands wrung in front of her, and Isidora released a long exhale that felt too loud with unspoken words for Myrina's condition. She shot the old woman a severe look, and Isidora maintained it without the slightest hint of emotion. Myrina grumbled to herself and couldn't bear to stand still long enough to continue this mild fight between them. Once more she was pacing as if she would wear a trench into the floor of her room. The crack of her door opening was like the sound of a whip through the silence, and she stiffened, snapping her attention toward the threshold where the door opened to reveal her father's silhouette. She couldn't breathe, and her face relaxed with hopeful dismay when Diokles showed no inclination either way. _

_ "Myrina… Come." As obedient as a child, she hurried to her father who stepped aside and motioned toward the kitchen where he and Hector had been speaking. They had no formal atrium to receive guests and address these sorts of proposals –not of the royal sort in any case. But Myrina thought it fitting they should discuss it in the kitchen where she and Hector had consulted so many times. Hector was standing with those long arms crossed over his chest, but his face was a stolid as her father's. Was this some trick to see how far they could push her nerves? Her eyes softened as they fell on her love, silently pleading him to give her some sign. He turned his attention above her head to her father following her. "I want to hear it from my own daughter," Diokles said as a continuation of some conversation with Hector that Myrina had no knowledge of._

_ "Hear what, father?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady as she turned to face him. She could feel Hector standing not a foot behind her, and somehow that made her stronger knowing he was backing her._

_ "I thought the first time you ever met the Prince was when he visited over a year ago to retrieve the Dardanian Prince." There was no question, so Myrina waited with her heart thundering in her ears. Never had she and her father had this sort of a conversation. "I was wrong, wasn't I?" he pressed._

_ Unsure what Hector had told him, she wished she could turn and see his expression, but what use was there in lying anymore? "Yes."_

_ "Myrina…" he said in an exhale that she feared was disappointment._

_ "I met him before mother died. We were so young, but we did not see each other again for years." She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, not wishing to reveal too much, but no more lies could be told. "He would visit me while you and Alkaios and Aeton were at sea. It was not improper. We only sat here and spoke for a time before he was forced to return to the palace." The candlelight threw shades across her father's features so that she couldn't properly discern his thoughts on this topic. "He was my only true friend after mother died. He was the only person I could be honest with… I've loved him my whole life, father. Please."_

_ Diokles stepped forward where the light finally illuminated his face, but what she had mistaken for a deep frown was an attempt to hold back his emotions. She saw it in the slight sheen of his eyes and twitching of his lips. "My beautiful daughter, I would never refuse your happiness."_

_ Her own vision wavered with the onslaught of unexpected tears, and she took her father in her arms matching the power of his embrace with her own. "Thank you," she whispered earnestly near his ear, and he squeezed her tighter in response before releasing her to consider Hector who had yet to move from his stance though his arms now fell on either of his sides making him appear less combative._

_ "You will take care of her… until your death. I have your word?"_

_ To both their surprise, Hector bowed his head to her father as a show of respect and consignment. "I swear it."_

—

There she stood staring at the reflection of a woman she thought to envy with every cell of her being. There stood Hector's bride. The rich, white material of her gown held at her shoulders by stacked slender gold links, each punctuated in a gold medallion with a striking carved pattern and large pearl crowning it, and attached with four staggered gold pieces coming to a point where it clasped the gathered material. It cut deep between her breasts, modestly covering them but revealing enough of her tan skin to contrast the gown, and ended where a chain of alternating gold ovals and circles molded to her ribs. A large gold medallion lay at the center with the same carved detail and large pearl as the others. The weight of the material let it fall on her subtle curves to hint at them without being obvious, and a piece of white material with thick gold banding draped from her left shoulder across her body in the traditional way while playing with the amount of skin available to other's eyes. Isidora added a diaphanous veil at the crown of her head where it fell all the way down to the backs of her thighs, and a very thin gold circlet was applied to keep the veil in place. It hung over her forehead with two delicate strands that met at her temples, and it complemented the strip of gold bordering the veil to keep it from becoming a victim of the wind. The coils of brown hair were swept beneath to fall down the length of her back while a few stray curls framed her face, and it showed the small earrings with two gold bells ending in a pearl which matched the stacked gold bracelets around her wrists.

"Only your husband may remove this," Isidora commented while adjusting the veil to drape around her shoulders.

Myrina turned to face her with her features drawn in a mixed expression. "What do you think?"

Isidora had done well, throwing herself into each task no matter how trivial so that she wouldn't consider the whole, but now she took in Myrina with painstaking detail, unable to keep the tears from filling her eyes. Myrina watched in awe seeing herself through Isidora's eyes more than that mirror the servant was holding up for her. "He does not deserve you," the old woman decided through a shaky voice.

"I don't feel like myself," Myrina admitted while keeping her gaze away from the mirror for some odd reason. That woman draped in gold and expensive fabrics with her hair in perfect curls to reveal the shape of her face and presence in her eyes… That wasn't her.

"You are becoming something beyond yourself." Isidora smiled through the tears now sliding slowly down her cheeks and brushed at a piece of Myrina's hair with a gentle sweep.

"They're ready for you, my lady," one of the young servants spoke up, and the fluttering in Myrina's stomach awoke with a vengeance that she had suppressed it for so long.

Isidora sighed and pushed away the tears from her cheeks, adjusting her dress next to gather herself once more. "Go," she said with another brief smile. "Savor every minute. It will be over in a blink."

At the moment, that was what Myrina longed for: the end of this day, and the beginning of her life with Hector. 'Let it be over,' she thought and reluctantly moved to follow the servant from her quarters and toward the site of the ceremony. So the gods had smiled on them and given good omens this morning. It only seemed natural after the long years of hardships they had weathered, and she hoped the rest of their marriage would follow suit. "The calm after the storm," she whispered more as a prayer beneath her breath, directing her gaze toward the sun through a break in the columns of the corridor and beseeching the patron of Troy himself to hear her.

Soon she was standing at the periphery of the space, hidden by the wall of the hallway and blinded from seeing Hector. Unfortunately she was confronted with the lines of strangers gathered to act as witness to their union, and not a single face was familiar. She hadn't thought it possible until she saw them for her nerves to be anymore powerful, but her hands were shaking with such force that she heard the subtle clinking of the bracelets on her wrists. "Who are these people?"

"Kings, princes, generals…" Myrina jerked at the unexpected response and snapped to her left where familiar dark brown eyes were waiting her attention. "They've all come to pay tribute." Cassandra shifted forward draped in her blue regalia and as elegant and beautiful as Myrina remembered her, but she couldn't bear those omniscient brown depths that had pooled in unspoken sorrow the first time they met so she turned to the crowd once more, the nameless milieu who hadn't spotted her yet. "I hoped to see you before the ceremony. I wish to give you a few words."

Myrina strained to seem polite and humble, but Cassandra's presence unnerved her with the infinite air given greater strength through her imperial position. "Kind words are appreciated," she assured the older woman. "I've forgotten my courage."

"I've long thought of the wife my brother would take. I knew it would be you the moment I saw you –even before I saw you." Myrina's features shaded in a frown, and Cassandra promptly decided, "That's no matter… I only wished to tell you not to release my brother."

No more could be exchanged before Myrina turned and revealed the deep crease in her brow. "I am marrying him," she countered in confusion and slight insult.

A million words were cusped on Cassandra's lips, and those eyes were void and vacuous with haunting intensity, making the hairs on the back of Myrina's neck stand straight. "When the time comes," the Trojan Princess explained, and suddenly she was the one who appeared uneasy. Swiftly she ducked her head, whispering something to herself, and she again looked at Myrina with a strained smile and pressed a cold, gold piece in her hand. "For the gods of the crossroads… You look beautiful –like a vision." Without another word, she moved away in such a haste that a gust of wind followed her, but the princess left utter silence in her wake.

Mercifully one of the servant girls, too young to hold her tongue spoke up, "She often speaks in riddles, my lady. Don't let it concern you."

"Thank you," Myrina murmured and adjusted the veil around her shoulders as she shucked off the bizarre conversation. Perhaps she would remember to ask Hector about it later. If nothing else, Cassandra had made her forget the hundreds of faces, but they flooded her with attention as she stepped from her place between their divided lines and into the center of the space where a line of scattered flowers and fortuitous items marked her path. The gold slipped from her hand to fall among the many offerings made this day for she had found her crossroads. Ahead of her the entrance to the atrium struck up on the second level where all eyes could see and was decorated with flowers and boughs of trees, and there he stood so tall and prominent with the late afternoon sun glistening off his chest plate. The flare was not nearly as evident as his smile which doused her in warmth even across this distance. He was her future. She crossed the line from her past, and there was such relief to see that the images did not blur or crumble. The palace of her dreams had been built upon pillars of sand, but the scene's tenacious strength reminded her in the most profound way that it was real. So Apollo had drawn his chariot across her dream, and if another ounce of happiness fit into her, she would surely burst at the seams. Her impulse was to throw off the heavy layers of material shrouding her and run to him, but she could not be that rambunctious village girl anymore. Still, she did not waste time finding her place beside him, and she realized his smile was contagious for her cheeks ached from holding the expression so genuinely.

Wrapped in layers of material, she felt she had lost herself somehow, but he stood erect in his soldier's uniform looking so natural and handsome it made her chest ache not to grab him. Unlike his cavalry uniform, his regalia appeared more ornate and emblematic of his status. The blue woven material around his waist was punctuated with thick bronze links like his chest plate and extended down to his calves, and attached at his shoulders was a long blue cloak left to drape down his back. In place of his wrist guards were two gold cuffs matching the crown nestled into his chestnut curls, and though she was sure measures had been taken to comb them into place, several unruly pieces sprung up to remind her of the young boy she had met years ago. For a moment, she saw him in the brown depths of his eyes, young and scrawny in his blue robes, but soon the vision faded to reveal the burly frame not crushed beneath the weight of his uniform and the handsome face marked with a scar and thick beard. Not once in her entire life had she ever imagined another in his stead.

The ceremony was never a drawn out event. The more important component were the visitors gathered to witness, and the acknowledgment of the gods who had given their blessings through signs this day. At the end a loud shout of "Talassius!" sealed their fates as one, and the ancient marriage cry resonated through the space, so old that none could remember its origins or true meaning. It was like a burst of air, a grateful exhale that the end had come, and the moment the words left their lips he had her in his arms crushing the fabrics around her while the crowd rose in good natured laughter and applause. She wouldn't have cared if he ripped the material from her because he gave her his lips, and she could have met Hades in that moment without an ounce of regret. That was until he released her, and she saw him again, brown eyes brimming with happiness. He reminded her she wanted so much more and guided her away from the space while the crowd was now shifting through the palace and into the large dining hall for the royal wedding feast. There was finally quiet in the corridor without the hundreds of prying eyes to catch them, and she hadn't noticed until then how busy her morning had been.

Now she stood in this brief moment of peace with him and found his lips as soon as she could. He was as eager and caught her, drawing her off the ground where she dangled powerless and content in his arms. The happiness of this moment contracted around them and spread in a smile across her face even as he tried to kiss it away. At length he gave in as well and took her under her arms lifting her up until her head almost touched the ceiling. She laughed while peering down at him as if the children of their pasts were celebrating in that moment, and he slowly lowered her back down to him where her arms supported her around his neck and his lips found hers. It would be too easy for their intents to shift and their more mature selves to celebrate in the only way appropriate… 'Later,' her mind warned her though her lips wouldn't heed the thought, not until he had her wedged against the wall, and by that time, her body had taken the reigns with a shuddering warmth to have him.

The heat of his mouth caught her beneath her jaw, and her lashes fluttered shut as she breathed, "Can't we leave now?"

His face shifted in front of her with those chestnut eyes alight in mischievousness, and he glanced around the space as if formulating a plan in his head. Abruptly he paused and closed his eyes before returning to her much more sober and mature though he clearly wished to be anything else. "Don't tempt me," he warned and smiled. "I would steal you away this second."

"Haven't you?" she asked and laughed softly considering their solitude in the corridor.

"It will take them a moment to notice," he commented with a lowered voice, and that appealing mischief returned.

"You shouldn't tease me." Even the thought made her mouth go dry with a yearning for him, and she smiled wryly at how helpless she was in his arms.

"I wouldn't," he promised and let his lips brush her temple before gently setting her on her feet, and she was grateful for the support of the wall behind her lest her weak knees forsake her. His eyes still held her captive where they fell across her. "You've never looked more beautiful."

Her cheeks warmed no matter how many times he said such things. Maybe she would eternally be the young girl stealing glimpses of him, and she looked down at herself. "Can you even see me through all of this?"

"Yes… Come. The sooner we sit through this feast, the sooner I'll have you for myself." With quiet accord she allowed him to lead the way toward the hall, walking close enough to him that his arm would brush her every now and then.

It felt like years since she had been in the confines of those walls with the plush rugs scattered across the floor and the long table where royalty had sat. Now various other tables were drawn into the space as well to fit the many guests, and an adjoining room had been turned into more seating considering the numbers. Once the company was seated, Priam stood from his large chair to have his chance to speak this evening.

"My friends," he called out to them, and many voices respectfully quieted nearby the King. "My friends," he repeated louder, and the hall hushed while all heads turned to gaze at the older man standing proudly before them all. "A father dreams and dreads the day his son will become a man. The gods took my eldest Aesacus but blessed me with Hector, and from the moment he opened his eyes, I knew the man he would become. I knew he would lead Troy long after my body was burned. And I knew that I would love him as every father loves his son –like an extension of my own flesh and blood." Hector had gone stiff beside Myrina staring at his father with an indecipherable intensity, and she took his hand beneath the table to comfort him though he didn't acknowledge it. Feeling his gaze, Priam turned with a rare smile and continued, "What I did not anticipate was how much of my stubbornness he would inherit." The men laughed, and Hector suddenly bowed his head with a smile. "So that when he found his match as a young girl in the village of Illagus, he would not stray from his decision. No matter the threats I made or the princess I found for him, he was convinced." Priam paused with such a candid look to his eyes despite the hundreds gathered. It felt less like a grand speech from the King as a comment shared among friends. "I thought to punish him for disobeying my will, but I was forced to recognize that he had become the man I always hoped he would. Loyal, capable, and above all, honorable. It's fitting now that he found his wife in a servant of Troy and proved to me not only his humility but reminded me of my own. Myrina, daughter of Diokles and now a daughter of Priam as well." He motioned toward her so that all eyes shifted to the couple side by side, and Hector straightened then to stare back at them as if searching for any inappropriate looks to quell. "No princess would have fought for my son as she did with wise words and constant devotion. My diplomats could use such a graceful wit," he commented, and another wave of good-natured laughter rung out, Hector among it, causing Myrina to blush subtly and consider her lap. "All jesting aside, the gods have blessed us on this day. May they continue to favor Troy when Hector and Myrina rise as King and Queen and long after we have all gone." He lifted his cup to mark his toast, and all gathered offered their full chalices before throwing their heads back with drink. Hector was on his feet to embrace his father, and the revelry of the evening began to extend deep into the night.

Music filled the hall attempting to be heard over the masses chattering on about all subjects. The tables were filled with more food than she had ever seen in one place as if they had consumed the contents of the market for their own dinner, and similarly she wondered if Dionysus hadn't smiled upon them for the wine never ended. Throughout the meal, various people came to give Hector and Myrina their well wishes and congratulations. Among them was someone who particularly caught Hector's attention, and he stood to greet the King of Percote from the north of Troad.

"My lord Merops," Hector said with a sudden uneasiness to see the man now old with age who had damned him with a prophecy years ago.

"Prince Hector," he returned and was all smiles this evening. "How long has it been since you visited my lands?"

"Years."

"So long?" He shook his head at his own his thoughts. "You have grown much since then."

"My lord, I wish you to meet my wife, Myrina," he turned, and Myrina quickly stood with a soft smile to meet another of his acquaintances though by this time of evening she was forgetting their names as swiftly as they were introduced no matter how she struggled to recall them. Hector held his breath as he looked at Merops waiting for some sign or comment, but the ruler of Percote did not give the slightest inclination to appease the Prince's concerns. "This is Merops, the King of Percote to the north of us."

"My lady, you are far more fair than I had imagined."

Myrina bowed her head humbly and said, "You're kind."

"You recall my journey to your city years ago?" Hector pressed impatiently, and Myrina frowned to hear that tone from him.

"Yes. Vaguely... Age has not been sympathetic to my memory," he smiled sincerely at Myrina whose features relaxed to return the look, pretending she noted nothing awry with her husband.

"You gave me a prophecy, my lord. Do you not recall?" Now Myrina understood though not nearly to the degree that Hector emphasized this as he rather impolitely dug for an answer from the old man.

Merops' face contorted in a thoughtful furrow of his brow, his beady eyes searching the air, and after tense moments, he subtly nodded his head. "Yes, yes. And the young Dardanian Prince Aeneas as well. I can hardly remember that night."

Hector bent forward nearer the ruler where he could whisper sharply, "You told me the only peace I would find is in death." The words had haunted him ever since, and he turned to Merops now to banish their power over his life. When he considered Merops again, the old man was frowning deeper with his eyes sobered in intensity. Then slowly his head swiveled to consider Myrina, and Hector's anxiety reached its threshold, sensing that he had been correct all along.

"I was wrong," he commented in an exhale, and a warm smile broke his serious face. "I am pleased it is you." Myrina granted him an uncertain look which he reassured swiftly, "You will have a very happy life together, and you will weather it." He returned his attention to Hector then who was smiling though not truly listening the conversation with Myrina.

"It is her?" he asked in a low voice.

"If you needed me to tell you such, why did you marry her, Prince?" Merops laughed and turned from them to find his way back to his son, leaving Myrina and Hector to ponder the seer's few words.

"What was that about?" she asked as they both found their seats once more.

Hector was still grinning from ear to ear so content though she couldn't quite understand why, and he promised, "I'll tell you later when we're alone. It's too long a tale to recall now."

"Very well," she murmured and added it to the list of questions to ask Hector later which was unusually long for only an evening's worth. Luckily her reprieve came soon enough in the shape of her brother, Alkaios, wearing his soldier's uniform and barely limping from the deep wound in his leg that had not completely healed. "Alkaios!" she said happily as her eyes landed on him, and she embraced him so tightly that even he was surprised by her strength.

"I can't believe it's done," he admitted once she released him, and he smiled lopsidedly before raising his voice loud enough for Hector to hear, "I thought we would never be able to marry you off." The latter clasped him on the shoulder with a heavy grip and shook it amiably.

"Instead you're the one who's unmarried," she challenged and grinned. "Even Aeton beat you."

"He's my older brother. It's to be expected," Alkaios commented dismissively. "Besides I may yet find my wife tonight."

"I would avoid Nereis. She is a bit…" Hector raised his cup to the side of his head with a loaded expression.

"Don't encourage him!"

Hector grinned wolfishly and shrugged. "He's my brother now as well. I'm only helping."

"Why can't you find a woman from our village?" Myrina asked while ignoring her husband's additions to the conversation.

"I'm feeling inspired by you, sister," he teased, and she playfully pushed his arm.

"Don't you dare embarrass me." The two men laughed, and Myrina feigned annoyance though she was smiling.

"Father sends his blessings," Alkaios said with a more serious expression.

"I'm saddened I could not see him today." Her brother nodded his head though his eyes said far more. "What of Aeton?"

"I didn't speak with him before I left."

"Alkaios, you should have."

"He did not wish to see me. He never said it, but I know him well enough to tell when he's avoiding me."

"Why?"

"Have you already forgotten the things he said to you? Or to me?"

"I wish I could speak with him."

"You'll have your chance. We both will. There's a pact among family that cannot be abandoned. His pride's injured. Let him lick his wounds. You'll see him again."

Myrina exhaled gently, impotent to do more, and took her brother in her arms again. "I'm glad you're here."

Alkaios smiled, giving her a rare earnest moment as he bent closer to her ear to keep his voice from reaching Hector, "You may be a princess, but I'll always be your brother. If you ever need anything, find me."

"I will," she promised and suddenly hated that this felt like a farewell. The truth was her duties would keep her preoccupied, and she would not have much chance to see her family. It was a part of this arrangement that she pretended not to notice, but her brother brought it to the forefront of her consciousness until her eyes were pulsing slightly. "You as well. Come to me for any reason."

Finally she let him go, and he turned to Hector. "My lord," he said bowing his head in respect, and Hector smirked.

"My brother," he rejoined. "Go and find your wife and leave me to mine."

"The gods willing." Alkaios left them then, and while monitoring his exit, Myrina noticed someone lingering around a corner of the hall. Sky blue eyes stole the breath from her lungs with one look. It had been foolish on her part not to consider his invitation, but truly she never thought Aeneas would come –not after what had passed between them. Hector's gaze followed her own and centered on his cousin, obvious in intent.

"I should speak with him," she suggested with a disconnected tone.

"You have no need to," he assured her and set down his cup of wine. "I will." Without a chance for Myrina to comment, he set off brusquely across the space and left her behind to watch with her hands helplessly wringing in front of her.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Hey guys! Obviously this chapter is unfinished. I was up to some 17 pages and not nearly finished, so I thought I would upload this first part and then the second part later. I don't want to leave you guys waiting too long, and I have a busy week coming up. I'll try to get the second part up as soon as I can!

Thanks to Syrena Swift, AmyLNelson, KawaiiHawaiian, MoonlitSorrows, and klandgraf2007! Adore you guys :)

Syrena: You read fast haha I remember I posted it, and you were on it like a rat on a cheetoh! ;) I seriously almost peed my pants I was laughing so hard when I saw the me gusta picture. I hope I get another troll face. That's motivation enough to try and write better! You're so, so, so sweet haha Thanks for the support, and I hope you liked this chapter even if it does need to be continued! xoxo

Amy: Egads! Myrina? Wise? Thank you for that cause I always feel like I'm going cross-eyed trying to think of intelligent comments! I'm glad you like the dynamic between Myrina and Paris, and I'll try to keep that in mind for future chapters :) I'm doing well, sweets -or as well as I can be. I've saddled myself up with an essay on the psychological and literary analysis of a book due Monday. Super interesting topic, but way more work haha How are you? :D

Kawaii: Dialogue junkie! How's the King Arthur fanfic coming along? Next will be the continuation of this chapter, and _then_ I have a question for all you guys that have been following the tale. Suspense? haha Hope you enjoyed this chapter! xoxo

Moonlit: You're sweet! There's a flashback about the proposal to Myrina's father, but that's how I saw it in my head. I didn't want to spend too much time on it since we all knew how it was going to end, so I hope you liked that and enjoyed this chapter as well ;)

klandgraf: Hey lovely :) I'm glad you enjoyed Myrina's conversation with Priam. I wanted her to have her chance to step up and really prove herself. Hope you liked this chapter :) xoxo


	39. Our Story

Chapter 38  
"Our Story"

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Recommended songs: "You've Got the Love" & "Never Let Me Go" – Florence + The Machine

* * *

Aeneas monitored Hector's approach with surprisingly sober, blue eyes despite the amount of wine available at this dinner and the cup in his hand. Hector anticipated some sign of his apprehension and guilt to manifest on his face, but he smirked wryly when Hector was within earshot as if the prior year had been a phantom vision, evaporated and forever lost. He envied his cousin's ease all the more when his wrath awoke deep in his gut to stir uncomfortably and threaten his own composure.

"Cousin… Only you would wear your armor to your wedding."

"I hadn't expected you to come."

"Why wouldn't I?" His smile fell now, and the depths of his eyes hinted at all that had passed between he and Myrina. Hector had been too far away to observe it before: Aeneas wore the wound on his sleeve for any attentive enough to notice.

For that reason did Hector recall his tact and took a moment to choose his words. "She told me, Aeneas."

His eyes still settled on Myrina with animalistic concentration, he commented, "Is that why she remains over there? I'm a bit insulted, cousin."

"Don't," Hector warned sharper than he meant to, and Aeneas' gaze snapped back to his cousin to acknowledge that flash of anger. The tension mounted between them so thickly and quickly it almost crackled as Hector shifted, searching for the space to tuck away his fury on this matter. In the spirit of reconciliation, he added, "She told me that you didn't know, and I believe her. I never spoke of it to you."

"You knew I had my eye on her!" Aeneas accused suddenly while his blue eyes darted around to be sure no one was eavesdropping. "I've never betrayed you, but you have me."

His ignorance momentarily stunned Hector, and the rigidity of the silent minute between them was almost unbearable. He broke it in a careful admission, "I met her when I was twelve."

Aeneas' brow creased suspiciously, but his cousin's face held no lies. "Why did you not tell me? I would have never…"

"I should have, but I couldn't risk anyone learning of our relationship. It wasn't my intent then-" He stopped himself from revealing the type of man he had been to vie for her love without truly considering marriage.

Aeneas understood well enough, and it unleashed something vicious in his cold tone as he stepped closer to Hector and warned, "I saw what you did to her. You broke her. Do you even realize that, you arrogant bastard! I took care of her. I would have healed her." His attention moved past Hector to where Myrina was standing in her wedding robes looking more beautiful than he could even bear. "Now I've watched you marry her. You don't deserve her."

"I don't," Hector agreed, and his anger quelled by the reminder of what he had done to her, unintentionally but irrevocably. "I've never deserved her… But she chose me."

"You never gave her a choice," Aeneas countered, too proud to stand down from this.

"What do you know of anything? You stole her away from her family to Dardania against her will! That is not love."

"It's a selfish love… What would you call your game with her? Did the Cilician princess not satisfy you, cousin?"

Without warning, Hector gripped Aeneas' robes and forced him out into the hallway and away from the eyes of his subordinates. The flames of the basins outside lit the open corridor, and the crisp air of night swallowed them. The open space gave room for their tempers to breathe like oxygen feeding a fire.

"I never touched her! Don't feign loyalty with me. I know you better, Aeneas."

Ever the trickster and prideful man, he countered, "Did you ask her how loyal she was to you, cousin? Did she tell you of our nights together?" It was a low blow, almost like the fist embedded in Aeneas' gut before he could move. He doubled over as the air was knocked from his lungs, and Hector rebounded for another blow, giving Aeneas time to rush forward. His shoulder buried in his cousin's stomach, centering his weight to tackle him down to the floor. Another punch grazed Aeneas' mouth, splitting his lip, and he grabbed Hector's chest plate, using it as leverage to pull him up only to throw him back onto the rock floor. The knock centered in the back of his head, and his crown scattered across the hallway while a low groan left his lips. Another hit made his gaze swirl as if his brain were rattling inside his head, but he recoiled to land a punch beneath Aeneas' arm and directly into his ribcage.

The Dardanian fell over from the force, and Hector gathered his wits enough to grab his robes and lean over him while growling, "Speak that way of her again, and I will cut out your tongue!" The two men stared at each other, near spitting venom, and Aeneas' hands were poised around his cousin's throat. The tension of their words, their violence, their jealousy suffocated the air from their lungs, but then, without warning, Aeneas' lips pulled back in a smile to reveal bloodstained teeth. He began laughing, loudly and freely. Hector's grip on his cousin's robes tightened initially in insult, but after a moment his hands relaxed. He shifted to sit against the wall away from Aeneas, resting his elbows on his knees and rubbing at the back of his head where a lump was already forming beneath his curls. "I've knocked the sense from you, cousin."

Still laughing, Aeneas sat up and found his way to the opposite wall to face his friend and wipe the blood from his chin. "We are men of action, not words. That is why we hate politics." Hector's brow arched incredulously, and Aeneas explained, "We would never have been satisfied unless it came to this."

A humorless smile traced the Prince's lips. "I would have accepted an apology."

"I wouldn't have given you one."

"There was some sense to wearing my armor."

"You forgot your helmet," Aeneas pointed out with another laugh.

He shook his head at the absurdity of their brief brawl. "This may surprise you, but I hadn't anticipated a fist fight during my wedding."

He waved his hand dismissively, the same one with fingers stained red from his blood. "Douse your pain with wine. You'll hardly remember it."

"I'll recall it too clearly in the morning," he conceded with a grin rather than a grimace. If nothing else, his wedding night would be memorable for more reasons than one.

Aeneas bowed his head for a time without responding though Hector could feel the expectant tension of what he would say next. Finally, his blue gaze met his cousin's. "If there were a man worth losing her to, it is you."

Next to his father's speech, it was the greatest blessing his marriage had received this night, and he promised, "She will be cared for. You know that."

"If I had thought otherwise, you would still be on the ground, cousin." In the dim light of the hallway, his eyes flashed in an unnamed challenge and threat.

"The demi-god Aeneas is human," Hector commented rather bitterly since his wife had brought such a loyal side out of the Dardanian.

"For the night." Aeneas stood then and winced subtly as the muscles around his ribs contracted. The split lip was the most obvious of his wounds but not nearly the most painful. Once on his feet, he offered Hector his hand and pulled the latter to stand as well before patting him amiably on the back. "I should find a worthy companion to celebrate it with." His lips curved in a wolfish grin as he commented casually, "I hadn't noticed how Creusa has grown."

"Stay away from my sisters." Hector shot the man a dark look though Aeneas never heeded another's warnings –especially not when it concerned a woman.

"You can't keep every woman from me, cousin."

"I can do far more," he warned as they stepped back into the hall where curious eyes centered on the pair with robes askew and bodies slightly battered.

Aeneas directed his cousin toward his wife who was staring at them in an expression only characterized as horror shifting swiftly toward anger. "I think you have more pressing matters, my friend. This is a moment I do not envy you."

"You're the ass who made this mess," Hector grumbled beneath his breath when he recognized the look and realized his crown had been abandoned on the battlefield behind them.

"You've surrendered to the responsibilities of marriage. I still have the good fortune of choosing my companion, and I've spotted her," he said with a disconnected tone before setting off toward none other than Creusa.

Noticing his path, Hector was tempted to follow, but his wife's eyes beckoned him with their uninterrupted attention. His most important calling. He threw a final glance at Creusa where she was now engaged in conversation with the Dardanian Prince. Aeneas' charm could not be whittled by something as menial as a split lip, to Hector's annoyance, but he set off to face his now infuriated petite bride.

"You said you would _speak_ to him!" she hissed when Hector was within reach.

He gave her a handsome smile that was ripe with guilt and slipped his arm around her waist. To borrow from his cousin, he explained, "We are men of action."

Her fingers touched his curls where his crown was absent, and he again cursed himself for not grabbing the golden piece. "What did you do? Did he hurt you?"

He took her hand away and promised, "It has been resolved. You've no need to worry any more tonight." Her face relaxed in a dissatisfied look, but he wouldn't allow it on this day. His grip around her waist tightened to pull her near and nestle his lips in her hair, and she couldn't deny the gesture and how easily it disarmed her. Instead she sighed, deflating her fury in a long breath, and relaxed against the comfort of her husband's side.

Hours after the ceremony when the night was at its thickest, they were escorted to Hector's quarters where they would finally have their chance at solitude. It was a welcome reprieve from the overwhelming amount of company always at the ready with a compliment, question, or curious gaze. Not until the door shut behind them was Myrina able to acknowledge how exhausted she felt from maintaining the act. Her tolerance would build with time, but she was not accustomed to the toils of royal life: the choice of her every words, the way she held herself, the tone she used, where she directed her gaze… Her body was weary from the revelry and wine warming her blood, but her mind was the most drained of all. Despite her fatigue, the prospect of a night alone with her husband reinvigorated her like a shot to the heart. The warmth in her blood shifted to reveal another sense only he could arouse, and she eagerly drank in the confines of his room, arranged exactly as she recalled them and consumed by the same magical appeal.

"It's been so long since I've seen your quarters," she commented after a moment and descended the stairs to crane her neck back and look through the opening at the stars.

"They're yours as well." He shifted toward the right where the wooden racks waited barren for his armor to dress them. He deftly unlatched the chest plate, all the while keeping his attention on his bride.

"Not yet," she murmured. This place, this life still had an otherness and unfamiliarity that made her feel like a visitor in his chambers. Even in the wake of their marriage, habits were hard to break, and she welcomed the time she would see this as her home. Her fingers trailed across the columns opening up to his balcony, and for a moment she swore she saw the echo of herself over a year ago standing there and waiting for Hector. 'No more waiting. No more waiting,' her mind chanted as a victory cry, and she smiled and turned to him –to her husband. "I want to belong to this because it means belonging to you."

His fingers were pulling at the golden cuffs, but they abruptly stopped when the words shot from her lips. His features settled soberly for the sincerity of her gaze disarmed him, and he forgot his armor in an instant. Rather, he approached her, ready to claim her and possess her and promise her he would never let another's hand fall upon her. He swore it in the heavy burden of his lips on hers, the caress of his hands on her bare arms, the way his presence sheltered her and made her knees quake. He consumed her with the pressure of a wave on the sea, breaking over her and sweeping her feet out from beneath her. She rested in his arms, comfortably wrapped in his warm embrace, and succumbed to his persuasion as if no other option had ever occurred to her. Her eyes closed, and she focused on the flicker of candlelight in her lashes, the heat of his breath on her mouth and cheeks, and sweet taste of wine on his lips. He carried her like she were floating over the floor, all rustling of fabrics and no weight to drag her under, and passed her to the comfort of his sheets. As she sunk low into the padding of his bed, the earthy musk of his scent swept up, and she inhaled greedily, sucking the soothing smell deep into her lungs as though it fed her. The coarse grain of his trimmed beard tickled her throat, and his lips found her collarbone peeking out from the layers of fabric. They were suffocating her, twisted and blanketed over her. The gold band around her head slipped away onto the sheets, and the diaphanous veil followed suit. Only her husband could remove it, and a smile settled in the corners of her lips as she imagined he had slyly done so. Tradition would not warm her bed at night, and surely the gods would forgive them their passion and need. They were human, flawed and sinners each, but the gift of him made her wish to repent for every wrong she had ever done. Fulfillment and satisfaction humbled her, strengthening her with the eternal bond promised between them, but forever would she know how she was nothing without him.

She was almost ashamed how she relished his hungry lips feeding on her skin and how he nearly ripped the fabric from her. The golden clasp at her shoulder gave before the fabric could split, and the material draped across her was now flung away with one rough yank. The breath sucked sharply in as she was shocked by his impatience, but it spurred her own. Her fingers gripped the edge of his blue undershirt and forced it up beneath his arms, even as he took hold of the material shielding her breasts and tore her gown down the center. The delicate cloth yielded easily though loudly, and she abandoned his shirt in lieu of his lips, the latter of which were necessary to fuel her yearning. Their eagerness was the celebration of their union, the final act to seal their fates forever. An eternity would never be long enough, and they chased the fractured minutes with such desperation for the corporeal bond that clothing was a restraint and nothing else. Both their hands were untangling the knot at his waist, clumsy and needy, and she bit his bottom lip and tugged forcefully with an unvoiced command. The knot submitted with a rough seize from Hector, and the heavy bronze plated material was added to her draping. He was her slave for the night, blindly obeying the call of her body as he pooled the material of her skirt around her thighs, and the supple flesh parted readily for him to fall into her swiftly and completely. The impact of his entrance travelled up her spine where it bent, and her head rolled under her. She cried out her pleasure, and he hit her again. Her nails crackled as they clawed at his shirt, and his eyes closed so they wouldn't roll back into his sockets. An explosion of heat in his abdomen threatened to consume him with the force of her walls contracting around him like the first time.

There was no fight, and her knees stretched apart to fit him better. Her body welcomed more, and he settled in deeper until his hips were embedded in her inner thighs. She exhaled a breathy moan and relaxed against the sheets so greedy and pleased with the indulgence of him cutting through her. He could rip her in two, and she would allow it, smiling all the way; but he would never harm her, only draw her to the precipice of pleasure so complete it was almost excruciating. She was a mad woman beneath him, prepared to beg for more. She consumed him with the heat of the sea at noon, and his mouth went dry when she scorched him. Her elbows propped her up on impulse to find his lips, and she swept up to meet him, her body carving out a deep curve to angle her hips forward to accept him and lift her lips for him. His kiss, fierce and hungry, echoed the force of his thrusts, and their foreheads were dewy where they pressed together. He stole the breath straight from her lungs when he crashed into her so deeply she collapsed impotently beneath him, and she stared entranced and breathless at the warmth of his eyes, searching her own to be sure he hadn't hurt her. She smoothed the concern from his brow with a sweep of her fingertips and allowed them to trace his lips next. He broke over her, bending to fit himself on top of her, and she felt him rush between her legs and arms as persuasive and malleable as liquid. The material still clinging sporadically to both of them trapped the heat, and her skin was fiery where he licked the dewy sweat from her cheek and temple, frustrated he was limited in what could enjoy of her.

Swiftly he rolled onto his back and pulled her to straddle his waist without allowing them to separate for even the slightest second. Astride him with the comfortable power of a mistress, she assumed a strength he never knew she possessed, gripping the front of his shirt and yanking to beckon him to her. He sat up immediately and crashed into her lips, unleashed to see her command him and aware only she could manage it. The same small hands gripped his shirt and forced it over his head so that he was naked save the heavy golden cuffs circling his wrists, but it appeared fitting, giving him the naked splendor of a god only adorned with riches and nothing else. His grip found her hips as his lips nestled into the crook of her neck, and he guided her to rock back and forth over him. Still embedded fully in her, the tight walls fought against him in the most pleasant way, and he groaned into her neck. The moan caught in her own throat, and she held fast to his shoulders with a desperate clasp that spurred him on. His other hand fitted to her free hip, and he had a better command of her hips, forcing them faster and rougher onto him. She supplicated with her head released back, her thick curls clinging to her shoulders in places and falling down to tickle the sheets otherwise. Every motion of her hips added to the curve of her spine, only her hands anchoring her to him so she didn't fall back. He was entranced to see her suspended gracefully at the direction of his touch, but he circled an arm around her waist to hold her from falling too far from him. He bent to catch the sweat collecting between her collarbones as if he could taste the candlelight reflected on her skin. His hand cradled the back of her head protectively, buried in the tangle of her curls, and he fell back, taking her with him.

They met the bedding with a comfortable landing, and she was left to her devices atop him. Experimental in the new position, she shifted further over him with the rocking of a wave only lifting for a breath before sliding back to envelop him completely. The position encouraged a flush to rush into her cheeks, and her hair veiled around their faces to trap the heat of their skin and heavy breath. One of his large hands fumbled between them in search of the secret to dissolving her gown. He had no patience for removing the pins or for ripping the rest to shreds, and his lips offered a desperate, persuasive plea where they kissed her aggressively. She was dizzy with want and heat and sat up for the opportunity of sucking in the cool night air. It swept across her damp skin and accentuated the temperature of her body. At any moment, she could give way to flames, and the wet layers of her dress clung to her like a second skin and suffocated her. The deep tear down the center brazenly revealed her breasts and stomach, but the remaining gown bonded to her thighs, ribs, and hips. Her hands were shaking as they scrambled to gather the edges of her skirt and peel away the layers. He helped her manage them and pull them over her head where the gown was tossed aside and forgotten with the rest of their clothing. She celebrated with thick breaths even as he settled back against the bed to admire her naked and poised above him. The flush remained in her cheeks when she caught sight of his hungry gaze, and she shyly considered the contours of his chest etched out in the flickering candlelight. She braced herself with her hands on his ribs, unsure how to maneuver but as insistent to try. The muscles in her thighs bore down as she sat up taller, feeling him slide from her piece by piece, and she bit her lip as she adjusted her hips to sit down on him again. The first few motions were tests as she decided how to tilt her hips, how far to lift, and how fast she enjoyed it. He encouraged her by spreading her knees where it was easier to manipulate her strength, and running his hands along the length of her thighs, pausing every now and then to grip them as a wave of pleasure crashed over him.

Each stroke was for her enjoyment, and her eyes closed as she released a low moan, struggling to keep her motions constant even as her muscles shuddered uneasily. The rapture had already weakened her, but she wouldn't surrender so soon after she had begun. She was invigorated by the mastery she held over Hector for this moment, pleased she could satisfy him as well, and peeking beneath her lashes, she saw his jaw cut out beneath his beard where he held back a groan. Her chest tightened at the sight, and she fell harder on him, sending a shock up her body to resonate as moan at her lips. She licked them greedily and found the same shift of her body again. His nails dug into her thighs, and it electrified her pushing his boundaries with a power she had never imagined she held. The repetition exhausted her and made her thighs and lungs burn, but the sensation was too addictive to relent. When he noticed the shuddering of her muscles, he found her hips once more and helped guide her onto him again and again. Her head was heavy with need and fell forward, her hair slipping across one bare shoulder to let pieces tumble over his abdomen. Her attention was drawn to the sculpted muscle contracting as he struggled to control her movements and help them both toward an eager end. She kissed his chest, burying her nose into the crease carved down the center and resting the weight of her forehead on him. Even as her upper body surrendered weakly, her hips continued their persistent rocking until she couldn't feel her legs aside from the fire overtaking them.

As if he could sense her waning strength, he flipped her beneath him, taking the time assess her crimson cheeks and breathless gasps, before he slid into her slowly and carefully. His eyes betrayed him though he struggled to give her the reprieve she so needed, but she cupped his face and rocked her hips back to accept him fully. The invitation was unmistakable, and he caved as easily to his needs, using one hand beneath her knee to leverage her legs apart more. He slid her calf onto his shoulder, testing how far he could lean into her before she fought him, but the stance allowed him greater access, enough that he tested how deeply he could enjoy her for several strokes. The first one made her eyes widen and her lips part with a sharp inhale of air as if she had never felt something so arresting, and though her hands fell to tangle the sheets in her fingers, she didn't push him away. The next thrust forced her eyes shut, and she twisted her head with the tension building in her body. The breath contracted around her, and she couldn't find the will to release it. Pressure accentuated how far into her he delved, reaching limits she didn't think possible, and his painstaking attention to her made it all the more satisfying. He met his mark each time with dedicated precision, and her brow knit for lack of an appropriate way to voice such gratification. His hips found her harder and finally knocked the loud cry from deep in her belly. Eyes still closed, brow creased tightly, body tense for the recoil, she quivered when his kiss tenderly grazed the inside of her knee. It sent chills along her skin, even causing the buds of her nipples to rise at attention so that every impact had her breasts swaying and tingling. His breath tickled her tender skin and made her oblivious to how he bent forward even farther, opening her wider, hitting her deeper. She cried again, sharper and more forceful, but it registered as a command to him. He met her not a moment later before she even had the chance to catch her breath. He stole it from her as if that was what she had secretly desired all along, and the force of his thrusts had her dizzy and heady with need. She yearned for his crush, the oppression of his weight bearing down on her, the power of his drive, and had she the breath to form words or the consciousness to voice them, she would have told him how she needed him. But she didn't have to. He had always known for their shared urgency was part of the love that had propelled them to this reach this moment.

It built inside her abdomen as though the weight of Mount Ida had settled on top of her, and she struggled for the room to breathe or move. Every muscle tensed around her, wrapping band around band to bind her to her skeleton even as she strained to reach beyond its confines. The need tore her in two, the constraint inside buried her, and his thrusts assured her she would crumble in another second. He watched it grow in the tension sharpening her features, but his recognition fueled the tightness in his groin begging for release. He felt savage with want, carnal and unleashed by her, but contained to the limits she could bear him. Even as he strained to restrain himself, he knew he hit her too hard, burying in too deeply. She couldn't open her mouth to voice the sharp pain and even more persuasive pleasure wrapping around her, and she wanted him to continue however he saw fit –to guide her toward any end he desired. Another thrust, and he groaned loudly but couldn't cease, not yet. He abandoned her leg, letting it fall to the side, so he could fall over her and find her lips a final time. His release came with the next thrust sinking into her and spurred her own where she cried out against his mouth. It attacked her more aggressively than anything she had experienced before, and she clung to him as the wave washed away. Satisfaction sunk into her bones, and she held no strength left, even cursing the exertion of breath. He was as drained and reserved only enough control to roll from her before he crushed her beneath his weight. His chestnut eyes settled on the canopy of gossamer black material stretched to fall on either side of his bed. It rippled in the night breeze coming from his balcony, adding a soothing flutter to the sound of their drawn breath.

When he scrounged together the remnants of his strength, he reached for her and pulled her limp body into his arms. She adjusted her head to fit into the crook between his chest and arm and relaxed against him. Nothing more need be said for it was written in the fondness of his arms circling her even though he would not have had the will to lift a blade, but perhaps that was the only time he could hold her so tenderly when the soldier evaporated for the moment, leaving her alone with the man.

"You'll be the death of me," he taunted after his breath had evened. His tone was affectionate and warm, beckoning her to tilt her head and gaze up at him.

"I wouldn't dare." She smiled softly and circled her fingers over the skin on his chest. "Your death will be my own."

His brow knit incredulously, and his hand cupped her face, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. "You shouldn't speak so."

"Is it selfish to wish my death before yours?"

"Yes." He subtly shook his head that their conversation had taken this turn. "Never wish that."

"How can't I?" She swallowed as if fearful to voice the words aloud, but unable to keep them inside. "I can't live without you. I won't survive."

He gathered her closer, drawing her farther up him where he could better see her face as though that would reveal what had called this train of thought. "Should it ever come to that, you will. You have. You are the strongest woman I know, but you can't speak of this. I've married you, and you look toward the day death parts us. Am I such poor company?"

He drew the smile onto her lips even in light of the words she had spoken. "I've never been this happy… It terrifies me."

"I swear you have nothing to fear. I've fought years for you to be at my side, and I will do whatever is necessary to keep you here." His kissed her forehead and stayed close with his nose brushing her eyelashes as he whispered, "And if you die before me, I will have to see Hades and bargain for your soul."

She laughed lightly at the impossible promise though she admitted, "If there were a man who could, it is you."

He drew back enough to see her clear blue-green eyes eagerly opened to sustain his look. "Then you've married well."

Again, she laughed, her airy tone melding with his rich baritone, and she playfully smacked his arm for the presumptuous remark. "It only took me a lifetime to convince you."

"You were the one to be convinced! I've chased you since I was a boy."

"Not for my hand!"

His fingers embraced her palm, lifting it where he could view how the small hand was enveloped within his own. "I was not wise enough to ask for it."

Her lips tugged upward in guilty smile, and she agreed, "I wasn't wise enough to offer it."

"No man has fought so fiercely for a woman."

"Orpheus for Eurydice," she challenged immediately, her eyes alight mischievously.

His face fell in shock that she knew the tale and so well to recall it readily from her memory. "It does not end well," he pointed out.

"Then… Apollo and Daphne."

"She denies his advances, and he is a god!"

"You are Troy's Prince."

"I am mortal and flawed as any man… I fought for you without magic or charms."

"I don't agree with that."

"How can't you?"

"You are charming when you wish to be."

He chuckled and kissed her hand. "I assure you if I am charming, it is accidental. Aphrodite gave my brother charms –not me."

"I disagree," she repeated, shifting now to ascend his body and reach his face where her hair fell around them in a veil and her lips poised expectantly above his. "You are brave and handsome and clever and charming… on occasion."

"Such a rarity!" He twisted them around to pull her beneath him where he could have the rule over her lips and claimed them as he wished without fight from her. When he was able to wrench himself away, he mused, "No wonder you wish to die before me."

Her mouth fell agape in surprise that he could draw such a conclusion, and she protested, "You know I did not mean it that way!"

"Didn't you?" he teased, and his lips curved in a sinuous smile.

"Never."

"How can I be sure?"

Her eyes softened, and she pursed her lips in thought. A silent moment passed before her lips relaxed, and she decided, "I waited for you."

He nodded subtly and brushed a curl from her brow. "Had I known we would have this night, you wouldn't have waited."

She licked her lips and maintained his gaze, strengthening the pressure between them before she revealed, "I would wait an eternity for you."

He smiled lovingly, the warmth transferring more in the reflection of her gaze, and stroked her brow again only to recall the smoothness of her skin. "I would not leave you alone for so long."

"I know." He exhaled slowly and shifted onto his side where the position was more comfortable, and his weight wasn't bearing down on her. Though she never complained, he secretly wondered if she weren't too fragile to sustain him. For the moment, he had no interest in testing the waters and was content enough to lie beside her. Soon his strength would be returned fully, and he could only think to exhaust it once more, how ever many times they desired this night. There was no need to be cautious now that they were wed, and years of craving for her manifested as an insatiable hunger, incessant even in her presence.

While his thoughts had taken a typical male turn, her gaze was downcast and heavy with reflections he couldn't guess. When it was apparent she wouldn't snap from it alone, he questioned, "What troubles you?"

At the sound of his voice, her head jerked as if awakened from a trance, and she smiled apologetically. "I feel guilty… Leaving Isidora and my father to fend for themselves. They're both growing older."

"I can hire a new servant to look after them," he reminded her.

"Isidora would feel insulted."

The affectionate dismay of her tone resonated powerfully for him, and he noted, "She's like a mother to you, isn't she?"

"Yes… She'll never replace my mother, but she's all I have."

"You can call her here. She could wait on you." It was an offer he had already voiced before, but Myrina was not a woman to presume what she deserved so he prompted her again.

"I don't need anyone to wait on me, Hector."

"I know… but you're my wife now. I have to spoil you. How else will you forget all my faults?"

She laughed and assured him, "It would take more than a few girls following me to make me forget." He smiled, undoubtedly prepared to raise the ante. Before he could, she pressed, "But I wouldn't want to. Remember when you came back from war, and I would make you recount every moment for me?"

"Yes."

"This is our story. Every wrong and every right, and one day we can tell our children. And they'll tell their children, and maybe if we tell it well enough, their children's children too."

His smile grew substantially, and he once more repeated, "I wish I had known… It would have been a much shorter tale."

"I know, my love, but it could never be short." She reached to touch his beard and trace the proud line of his jaw. "I barely remember anything before I met you, and now I have you for the rest of my life. I want it to be a long tale. Let it take days for them to recite it!"

"Months," he challenged, rolling to overtake her once more and showing how pleased he was with the prospect as if ready to begin as soon as possible.

She laughed and held his face near her own, letting him settle over her before she gave the final verdict, "Years."

* * *

**Author's Note**: Hey my loves! There it is :) I'm going to be honest now because I haven't thought ahead really farther than this point in the story. I know how it's going to end, but I'm not decided on how I want to get there. I thought I'd let you guys give me your opinions on the subject. I don't want to spend another 30 chapters detailing their lives from here to the Trojan War –even though some of you might enjoy that. It would be the never-ending story haha So I've considered two possibilities that I think could be effective. First, I could fast forward from here 10-15 years to the Trojan War. Maybe do a few chapters where you'll get a sense of what's happened to Myrina and Hector in the last decade, how their relationship has grown and changed, and the situation they're facing. Or, I can do a few chapters leading up the Trojan War where basically I hit the highlights of their life together: birth of their first child, Hector rising to assume most of the power from Priam, how Myrina adjusts to royal life, etc. If I do go with the first one (which I'm leaning toward), be assured you'll still get those sorts of details about their life together up to that point, but obviously it won't be in the amount of detail as if I wrote a few chapters on those events. So please give me your thoughts on what you honestly think would be most effective and best for the story, and/or tell me what sort of scenes you'd be interested in seeing :)

Thank you to Syrena Swift, KawaiiHawaiian, AmyLNelson, klandgraf2007, and anne for the lovely reviews and never-ending patience!

Syrena: You seriously kill me! I love these friggin troll/silly picture things! I get so excited when I load the pages to view them :) It's my "you like me, you really like me" moment haha Finally they are married, and dutifully, I provided you with some sexy time to ease those lonely nights and hankerings for Hector... Girl, we all get them! So I hope you enjoyed this, and please do give me your feedback on how the story should continue. Thanks love xoxo

Kawaii: Dialogue junkie! Paris? Dumb? Pssshhhh... He only ruins numerous lives and causes the destruction of an ancient city cause he got tingly in his pants for Helen. The Trojan War will happen, I hate to tell you, but I hope you'll tell me how you'd like the story to continue. I appreciate your two cents! :)

Amy: You're so sweet! Do you know how long I spent on Priam's speech? Ugh! So you acknowledging it is fantastic haha I had to put on my thinking cap, and sometimes I just feel brain dead. I'm happy to hear you're doing well :) Now is college in the UK analogous to high school in the US? I can never really remember to be honest. In any case, it's an exciting time all around, and cheerleading, eh? I was in a ballet company, so cheerleading was like a foreign language to me, but secretly I was always jealous the girls could do flips and crazy stunts since I can only do a cartwheel one way ;) Keep smiling, doll, and I hope you'll give me feedback on how the story should continue! xoxo

klandgraf: Well hello! I really have been trying to cut back on the drama (surprisingly), but honestly, I couldn't help the fight between Aeneas and Hector. It wasn't planned, but I think I was possessed and wrote it all (kidding). It seems more appropriate to me cause they're both proud men and Aeneas doesn't know when to shut up... Ahh all's well that ends well, right? I hope you liked this chapter and will let me know what you think should happen with the rest of the story! Thanks :D

anne: I don't know if you'll see this since you only reviewed chapter 2, but I had no idea how else to thank you, so viola! Thanks! Short and sweet. I dig it :D


	40. In the Silence

Chapter 39

"In the Silence"

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Recommended Songs: "I Follow Rivers" – Lykke Li & "Half of You" – Cat Power

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**A Year Later**

"How much farther?" she asked more breathlessly than she had hoped to reveal herself. The white colt bearing her showed no signs of weariness as he patiently followed Galanthe, Hector's favorite steed though newly broken, a proud rich chocolate stallion with his fur fading toward a black mane and a stoutly build carved like the golden statues of Apollo's horses pulling their master's chariot across the heavens. They ascended the uneven trail, edging around fallen branches, up steep inclines, and through small streams, and she struggled to keep her balance with her legs embracing the colt's back as firmly as they could manage.

Hector hardly seemed to notice the countless changes to the path that exhausted his wife, but he noted the drawn nature of her tone and looked over his shoulder to assess her flushed cheeks. "Not far, but we can stop and rest."

"No," she assured him shortly. "I'm too curious to see this place. I will last awhile longer."

"I seem to remember you as a much stronger rider," he teased good-naturedly and flashed a grin at her.

"Don't think I missed your choice of a white horse, Prince," she called back and smiled despite the sweat on her brow.

"A tribute to our younger days." She wished to voice a comment about her out-riding him that day or granting him a lump on his jaw but couldn't waste the breath. Already the air was thinner as they climbed Mount Ida's side, and coupled with her exertions to balance on her horse, she only survived off swift, shallow breaths. Squander them, and she was sure her head would begin spinning –more than it already was. The elevation and stretching of canopies overhead cooled the air so that it was damp and sweet as she inhaled. It deposited beads of dew across her skin to mix with her sweat and embrace her heated silhouette, and the forest smelled rich of moss and earth and wood, subdued and incubated by the shade. Its mystery enabled a magical quality to touch the echo of trees and quiet chirps and groans of the forest. She had been fearful at first that Hector would lose his way since she couldn't see how any could keep their bearings with the sky blocked from sight and walls of never-ending foliage. The servants had gone ahead of them to set up camp since Hector planned this as a private endeavor, only the two of them: the servants to vanish around them, invisible though ever present should they be needed.

They rode in silence for a while longer until her ears picked up an unexpected sound, like a hum beneath the calls of the woods. A distant roar, mistakable for the sound of leaves rustling in the wind, but more powerful and constant. It had the bass of the sea, reminding her of the sound of wind rushing past her ears and waves collapsing on themselves, but it was constant and unending. When her curiosity could not be satisfied by her own knowledge, she wondered, "What is that sound?"

"A surprise," he answered as mysteriously as the woods surrounding them.

"I don't like surprises," she challenged with the hope of drawing an answer from him.

"Then why have you followed me?" he rejoined and laughed softly like he knew all her tricks and had grown immune to them in their first year of marriage. He silenced her for the time but successfully drew her curiosity out in full force to taint her blood and send her heart into an anxious clamor. Her eyes narrowed to complete attention and searched the boundless succession of trees, of dark green and rich bark, for any sign of the source.

"Is the Scamander near here?" she pressed abruptly as the thought occurred to her.

He laughed again, louder this time, and looked back at her to commend, "Good girl."

Her lips inevitably rose for victory, but the patronizing response soured her triumph as easily. "You're taking me to see the river?"

"No."

Her mouth fell into a deep frown, her unsatisfied curiosity now turning to frustration, and his limited responses were not aiding her mood. In contrast, his back stood tall before her, his head of curly chestnut hair turning from time to time to gaze about them pleasantly, his stride across his horse relaxed and at ease. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Yes." He laughed again, letting it echo beneath the canopies back to them, and she bowed her head momentarily to restrain the smile that sound brought to her face. If she was annoyed then, it was by how easily he stole her anger.

As he had promised, it was not long before they reached a break in the trees, refreshing like the breath of warm air she sucked in, but the sight as quickly stole it back. Before them, water poured thickly from a fracture in the terrain, a crevice of packed stone that led further still up the mount, but Scamander rested a moment here, slipping off the edge to pool in the waters below before sliding out a side route and continuing on its way. Intermittent moss covered rocks and dirt and sand drew a halo around the pool, leading out to the line of trees keeping a mild distance from this place. Without their shade, the sunlight poured as heavily as the waterfall to kiss her skin and illuminate this haven, or perhaps it was a heaven for her. It calmed and excited, catching her in the center with an awe struck void to her expression.

"You're surprised," he commented, drinking in her reaction rather than the view.

Her sea blue orbs turned on him as if she had forgotten his company, and a smile broke out across her face. "Yes."

"Good." He dismounted and shifted to her side where he took her waist and helped her down from the colt. "Our camp is up this side. We can only reach it by foot, but I thought you would like to see this first."

Her arms slipped from his neck where they had helped balance her weight as she slid off the horse, but her hands remained to cup the longer bundle of chestnut curls, holding him near enough to her where she could clearly see his face. "Why are you doing this?"

The answer ebbed the joy from his eyes before he even voiced it, though somehow they both understood. "I know you've been sad since..." Their gazes locked in a silent exchange, and he continued, "And I've been east handling affairs. I've left you alone too long."

"You don't need to apologize to me," she interrupted gently and stroked her fingers across the base of his neck like she were drawing the guilt from his skin, though he had brought her here to comfort her –to help her heal. "It's beautiful."

He took her hands from his neck, engulfing one firmly in his grip, and guided her toward the water's edge for a better look at the fall. Faced with the raw force and beauty, she exhaled the tension mounted in her gut from their short exchange. "What will we do?"

He smiled and squeezed her hand. "Whatever we wish."

"I thought forests were dangerous and dark," she murmured from his side.

"Why?"

"My brothers would tell me tales of voracious boars, poisonous plants, walls of trees… and wolves."

"These things scare you?"

"When I was young," she assured him, hearing the amusement in his tone, the proud voice of a man who had seen much and feared little.

"And no longer…"

"No." She met his gaze and could easily read the challenge in them which caused her to raise her heels and tilt her head expectantly. His neck bowed nearer her, poised to meet her halfway, but a loud crack like a whip echoed through the woods at their right; and she snapped her attention in the direction with eyes wide and body tense. Hector laughed good-naturedly and caressed her arm when he noticed the flush swimming beneath her cheeks.

"What was that?"

"The servants I'd imagine… gathering wood for a fire or setting up their own tents."

"How can you be sure?" she asked when her eyes steadied on his.

"I can't. The woods groan and creak like the bowels of a ship. Some say the trees talk to one another." His voice had quieted like he were whispering a secret to her, and she appropriately stepped nearer to hear him.

"You believe that?"

"No." His true purpose was revealed, drawing her in to consume her lips in a heated kiss, swift and rough, until she yanked herself from his arms and faced her tormenter. He grinned wolfishly that he had caught her once more, but to see the look, she swore it would not happen again. Already she was retreating in careful steps backward, her gaze sustained with his, and the mischief lining his features tided to reveal his curiosity.

"You say there's nothing to fear…"

"I never said that," he corrected and took a step after her.

"You've been here before."

"With my father when I was a boy. He went on a hunting trip and brought me with him. He taught me how to wait, how to track, when to strike…"

"You hunt in these woods."

"Yes." Her steady retreat continued until she paused at the skirt of the woods, one foot dipped into the shade, and his brows knit to reflect his interest. "What are you doing, Myrina?"

The tension between them reached its peak, stretched by the distance now parting them and held only by their locked gazes. Her lips parted in steady ascent, rising like the impishness in her eyes, and in a moment, it cracked. She was a flash of white cutting between the dark woods, as tempting and fleeting as a vision, and he was already after her with heavier footfalls and longer strides; but she was more nimble, twisting around trunks and leaping over roots and constantly shifting her direction. She darted between two trees at his right, and he lost sight of her in a blink of his eyes. He tore around the tree, and there was nothing but the stillness of the forest. His breath was drawn through his nose in an effort to remain quiet as they stumbled upon a game, and his chestnut eyes scanned the depths for any sign of her. His vision had vanished, and he smirked abruptly with the invitation of a hunt. He slipped away, stalking through the brush further left.

One hand covered her mouth to hush the heavy breath, and she pressed close to the trunk in hiding. She heard no betrayal of his movements and removed her hand now that her breathing had steadied to decide her next path. There was a crack as a branch broke, and she dashed right, knowing that he had already found her and was on her trail once more. She laughed vibrantly and looked over her shoulder, only catching a glimpse of his black robes darting between the trees, and hastened her pace. She drove deeper into the forest, unafraid if only because he was after her. Though chased by him, she was fearless and checked over her shoulder once more to assess his distance, but there was nothing behind her. She ran swifter, jumping from a butte of rocks to land in front of it and crouch behind its cover. After several tense moments of listening to the echoes of the woods, she peered around the edge and searched for any sign of him. The static forest met her in a wall of haunting symmetry, and her stomach turned uneasily with the lack of his presence to break it. Her heart suffered a quick tremor as she swore she saw a flash out of the corner of her eyes. She shot up to her feet, tense from toe to nose, and searched the distance suspiciously. The unwavering pressure of the trees harrowed her, and she turned on her heels to run back from where she came. She cried out shortly, now faced with him looming behind her, and he chuckled beneath his breath, eyes dark in excitement.

Her figure remained tense to receive that look, and she stepped back from him, his own presence moving with her, until she hit the tree behind her. No more left to retreat. Nowhere else to run. He claimed his prize, catching her between the trunk and his body when his lips fell on her with hungry need. The rough bark scratched her back, and she fled into the hardened ease of his embrace while he pulled the pins from her shoulders for the white gown to fall neglected onto the forest floor. In her mind, she saw the flash of golden eyes, and she supplicated to his hardened body, roused by the wolf.

—

**A fortnight after their marriage**, Myrina had been alone in their quarters when the call came. They had the graces of an extended wedding afforded to royalty with the celebrations stretching days after the actual ceremony. For their part, Hector and Myrina were lost to the confines of his chambers, undisturbed and perpetually preoccupied to the task of newlyweds, scarcely stirring for food or other necessities. Had she any idea what duties awaited them, she would have been more appreciative of and attentive to those waning days –a seemingly endless summer of sunrises and sunsets spent at his side. By contrast, their reprieve was too fleeting and too short, and glancing at their marital bed, she recalled the infinite way time stilled inside these walls for them and was envious of the undivided attention he had given her. Not that her husband had grown neglectful, merely distracted. Her misunderstanding was not that she had married Hector, but that she had married the Crown Prince of Troy. When he spoke of his numerous engagements years ago, she imagined him to be exaggerating to some degree, but truthfully she had not seen her husband in over a week. He was sent north to the lands ruled by Abydos where the death of the king had incited a bitter fight for the throne. Alcathous, the rightful heir, was nearly sacked and killed but narrowly escaped to lead his men against the treasonous forces. Aeneas joined his brother-in-law with his army marching north, and they captured the nobleman who claimed supremacy above Alcathous and had led the uprising. Hector journeyed to hear the allegations, give Troy's royal blessing to Alcathous' reign, and be certain no turmoil remained.

So soon into their marriage, she was troubled by his absence and how it assigned her to face royal life singly. She never mentioned the slightest concern to him before he left, and she hoped he hadn't registered the reluctance in her eyes. After all, she had consented to this marriage and even fought for it. She had no reason to appear unwilling –only that she was a fish out of water within the palace. Servants came and went openly from her quarters, and how to command them, instruct them, or decide what to do with them was as foreign to her as Greece. One young woman in particular lingered about more often than the others, always at the ready to aid Myrina in any task necessary, and though Myrina had initially been put off by the proximity of a stranger closing in on her, she now drew comfort in seeing the young woman's face day after day. Callidice, Myrina had come to know her as, had been a trusted handmaiden of Cassandra spared as a gift to her most beloved brother's new wife. What was the task of a handmaiden, and could a person be a gift? She hardly knew what to make of that, but Callidice had an ease and gentleness that was infectious, capable of soothing Myrina's discomfort by vicinity. When she discovered Myrina's tolerance toward the attendants, she no longer held her tongue from offering helpful words and advice for the new princess. In this way, Myrina decided Callidice was a gift –if not from Cassandra, then surely the gods– for her knowledgeable direction often kept embarrassment and social awkwardness at bay.

It was Callidice who brought the message to her that her brother asked for her audience, and Myrina jumped at the opportunity to see Alkaios. She sent the servant to bring him to the atrium where they could speak and waited in impatient anticipation of what news her brother carried. When Callidice returned, Myrina's smile faltered as she recognized the taller, thinner figure of her eldest brother and uncertainly found his pale blue eyes.

"Aeton," she murmured, and he paused uncomfortably, looking sidelong at the guards and servants poised about the exterior, before bowing his head to her with an awkward bend to distort his lofty stature. It infected her with nervous vacillation, and her arms twitched at her sides for wanting to align him properly. The uneasy tumbling of energy remained even after he straightened, and she forced a thin smile onto her face. "You've come to visit me."

"I bring news from home," he explained as he sensed her confusion, but his assertive tone couldn't hide the lost nature of his eyes.

"Has something happened?"

"Nothing ill," he promised, and she released a tense breath. "Korina will soon bear another child."

"Truly?" He barely nodded, and she gave him a true smile with her spirits rising at the news. "I'm so happy for you! The gods have blessed you. I hope you have many more."

"As do I." He shifted from leg to leg, glancing occasionally toward the people around them.

"Sit with me," she prompted suddenly and guided him toward one of the stone benches. "There's no need to return this early." He followed without comment and occupied the space beside her, but the change in position did little to ease the tension wrought around him. "I'm surprised father could spare you," Myrina pressed for conversation.

"Galenos' son needed the work. He's not as swift as Alkaios or as strong, but he's eager to learn. He had no talent for being a potter."

"I'm glad you've found someone else to help you and father… I doubt you miss Alkaios' sharp tongue."

"Oddly…" He smiled subtly at a private thought and continued, "I do miss him –even his inapt remarks. I thought we would work at sea until we both grew old."

"Have you seen him?"

"Yes. Maybe a fortnight ago. He returned home to see our progress without him. I suspect he thought we would be cursed to ruin." His knee bounced nervously in disjunction from the statuesque remainder of him. "He brought a heavy coin pouch for father… and some for my family."

"That was generous of him. He was probably worried you hadn't found a suitable replacement yet."

"I didn't take it, nor did father," he announced without acknowledging her comment, but he seemed to be carrying a conversation that had little to do with her. "It's not the order of things. Our world navigates by hierarchy –from plants to bulls to people to kings and then gods… Yet you and Alkaios both transcend your birthright." He startled her with the sincere pierce of his blue gaze, all raw nerve removed of his usual shield. "Do you remember when father would journey to sea and leave us three for the day?"

"Of course…" she answered numbly, turning from his eyes to relieve the pressure they caused in her chest. "We would run through Dolon's fields and steal fruit or dare who could climb the highest in the branches of his trees, or we would wage wars." She smiled suddenly at the distant memory. "You both always made me the villain, and you never let me win."

"You took revenge on us, remember? You hid."

"Yes, I hid in the bushes behind Old Eudokia's home. I ate fruit from Dolon's trees and would stay up all night and lay on the ground and watch the stars."

"We searched everywhere for you –_everywhere_." His tone shifted more harshly, near reprimand, and she looked to him for an explanation. "When father came home and knew you had run under my watch… I've never received a lashing like that. Mother had to tear me from his hands."

Her jaw fell slack for silent beats before she revealed, "Alkaios knew where I was. He snuck out and brought me bread and water the second night. He told me I should return soon –that I'd made mother cry… He didn't you tell you?"

"No." His head bowed: an action that somehow took the whole of his body, bending his spine to accent the way his robes fell heavy around his skinny build. It struck her for she had always remembered him large and strong, and now she was faced with the limits of his reality, not her childish memories. "You've both kept each other's secrets. You've both always protected each other."

"I'm sorry," she breathed earnestly. "I was only a child. I wanted to have an adventure. I didn't understand what I was doing."

"After mother's death I went to sea with father," he continued, steering the conversation back toward a path where she had no sway. "I was two years younger than Alkaios when he was called to join us next. Mother's ashes were still warming her urn, and I was at sea while you both cried at Isidora's skirts."

Her brow knit as he dug up unpleasant memories, and she wondered, "Are you angry with me for being young and unaware?"

"No. I was for a long time, but not now."

"Then why have you come here, Aeton?"

"I wake up every morning to my child." He considered her in that stripped gaze once more. "There are many nights he is frightened and sneaks into our bed… He will soon have a brother or sister. He will be the eldest, and I want him to understand what his responsibilities will be. After Korina and I, he is to look for the protection and wellbeing of his sibling. I thought that was what I was doing with both you and Alkaios, but I was blinded by envy and a need for vengeance. I am old enough to recall when we were a family with a mother and old enough to be angry when we weren't. I blamed you and Alkaios for the destruction of our family –even more when Alkaios announced his leave for war and you returned from the palace. I saw our family tearing apart one piece at a time. I saw you and Alkaios leaving me, as you had when you were children, to bear the weight, to take care of father, and to do so without question or consideration."

"Aeton…"

"I am not angry, Myrina," he repeated as he saw the remorse flooding her eyes. "I am guilty –of the words I spoke to you and to my brother. And I am sorry because I see now that I tore our family with these very hands. I am the reason you and Alkaios have left, and the gods have rightly humbled me –a poor fisherman like our father."

"No." She impulsively took his hands and gripped them tightly between her own. "You've bore more than I ever knew, and I was selfish to never consider the life you've led. You've kept your word and looked after us even when we didn't ask it of you and even when we didn't deserve it. I don't look down upon you. I respect your strength and your loyalty. You've said things in a passionate moment –so have many men. So have I. You are not the reason Alkaios and I have looked beyond Illagus. Don't bury yourself beneath that guilt. You're the reason I ever had the strength to love Hector… I saw how you and Korina looked at each other. You made me believe a man could adore his wife, worship her even, when I was certain such a connection was reserved for the tales mother would tell me." She squeezed his hands when he turned from those words to draw him back in and hammer the sincerity of her attention. "No matter if I am the daughter of a fisherman or the wife of a prince, you are my brother."

"Alkaios said the same," he commented, and she realized he had looked away to hide the quaking of his jaw. He bowed his head and laughed dryly. "Well, not the part about being the wife of a prince. He substituted a soldier of Troy."

"That is more fitting. I don't think a dress would suit him."

"Only too well," he corrected and chanced a look at her now that his face was still of the sudden wave of emotion. "Are you happy, Myrina? Truly?"

"Yes. I've loved Hector my entire life, and now I may love him until my death."

"Alkaios says he's a good man –loyal, strong-minded, and noble. If this is true, then I'm happy for you as well."

"I hadn't realized how long I've waited for your approval," she answered, and her own expression wavered with the onset of reconciliation. So a proud man had come to her and bowed. "Thank you."

—

Her lips lazily traced his spine from his lower back, up the subtle incline, between his shoulders, and to the base of his neck where she covered his naked body with her own, nestling her face on the back of his shoulder. The veil of their tent was drawn back to enjoy the cool breeze of night, and the fire outside threw warm rays of light to flit across his bronze skin. The waterfall was a distant roar, absorbed by the thick of night and added to the soothing sounds of the forest around them. His own breath was heavy and rocking her gently, and she smiled in private amusement when he did not stray from his arms folded fitting his face comfortably to make some comment or another. Their journey to camp, chase in the woods, following bath in the pool to remove the dirt and grass staining their skin and leaves from their hair, meal shared around the fire, and christening of their tent had exhausted them both. Still, she was surprised to find he slipped away before her, his arm twitching subtly under the spell of Morpheus, and she kissed his shoulder where a scar was drawn from his battles in Cilicia and drew her fingers along the length of his arm to still him.

"Running to battle even in your dreams," she whispered in barely a breath, which he naturally didn't answer, and smiled once more. With the utmost care, she slipped from his back to settle beside him, and his arm shifted blindly to catch her by the waist and draw her close as he often did in his sleep, keeping her near as though she could be stolen when his eyes closed. She welcomed the heavy weight to circle her and waited for him to settle once more before she crept from beneath it, grabbing a neglected blanket from the floor of their tent to wrap about herself as she stepped through the threshold and into the caress of night. The waning fire's halo receded under the heavy blanket of dark, letting the chill air draw nearer, so that she crossed her slender arms about her to draw comfort. The stiff ground met her bare feet as she padded away from their camp and deeper into the darkness. Artemis gave her light enough to follow the stream toward the waterfall's edge where she found a rock large enough to sit upon.

Sleep often evaded her in the weeks since… She thought of her family, the father, brothers, nephew, and sister-in-law she missed more than anything else from her former life. Family was all that had bore her through the storm in those formidable years, but she had traded them for Hector –at least that was how it felt at times. In the months since her marriage, she saw Alkaios the most considering his rank as a soldier of Troy, and Aeton next when he would travel to market for business and bring her news of the family. Her father and Korina were rarely seen, the latter of which was understandable since she had two children to care for now. But her father, why did he remain distant? Was he angry with her or perhaps lonely with two of his children in Troy now? She knew the young servant she sent to care for him would never meet his expectations –or any of theirs for that matter. Isidora was family. Family cannot be replaced, bought, or abandoned.

A thick shadow fell over her, and she twisted to see him sneak up on her once again. Her hand covered her chest where she could feel her heart racing beneath, recognizing him just in time to withhold the scream.

"Do not leave my side like that again," he warned sharply, and her gaze fell to be chastised by her husband.

"I'm sorry," she murmured beneath her drawn breath, face pale where it was bathed in the moonlight, and his tense silhouette relaxed partially so that he could approach and sit beside her. "I didn't wish to wake you," she continued in a guilty tone as she realized she had frightened him.

"You're my wife." His voice was low and gruff from the oppression of sleep that he had no doubt thrown off as quickly as he could to search for her. The material at his waist was poorly tied, but he hardly seemed to notice as he rubbed at his features to push away what remained of his weariness. "Your troubles are mine to bear as well. Speak with me. Don't run into the cover of night to sustain it alone."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you," she apologized again, feeling irrevocably foolish for attempting to steal away without him noticing. He may have thought she was stolen, injured, terrified… "I'm not accustomed to letting others share my burden. I don't know how to ask that."

At the admission, he smiled wryly and looked off across the trees' canopies and further still where he thought he could see Troy in the distance. "Neither do I." When the chestnut eyes found her again, he examined how the moonlight stole the color from her skin, making her seem more frail and dejected than she was inside the safety of their tent with the fire to warm them both. "We must be honest with each other. You need to trust me."

"You know I trust you," she rejoined immediately. "More than any other."

"We spoke of this… after."

"It is not so easy for me to forget, Hector."

"We won't forget," he pointed out, face relaxed in sincere remorse, "but we can't speak of it every year of our lives together. We can't move forward with our eyes on the past." She wouldn't meet his gaze no matter how powerfully he considered her profile, but he saw the nervous flicker of her lips, the tension building in her jaw, and the uneasy shifting of her eyes. "What are you afraid of?"

The silence built between them, ripe with everything she withheld, and it was so heavy that the sound of her whisper was akin to an explosion. "I fear Thanatos has cursed me." Her bottom lip quivered, and she readjusted her seating as if searching for the proper position to hold herself in perfect stillness and restrain the onslaught of emotion. "My mother, Isidora, and now this…" Her hand covered her mouth like she were afraid to reveal anymore, and her eyes turned to him, darkened by night to send a chill through him.

"No," he intercepted quickly before she could endure the guilt any longer. "Death has no bias. He curses all and none."

Instinct drove her into his arms to straddle his lap, neglectful of the blanket unraveling around her, for she felt sheltered by his honesty and tenderness. His mouth parted to continue, but she covered his lips as well, wishing for silence and forgiveness. "Do not speak of it again, and I will have no reason to leave your side at night."

* * *

**Author's Note**: Hey lovelies! I apologize if the usual formatting of this chapter is slightly wonky. I was having some difficulties with a disappearing tool bar in my document manager (internet gremlins? :/) I figured you guys wouldn't much give a damn if it wasn't as pretty as it usually is… In any case, if you're confused by this chapter, no worries. It was intentionally ambiguous, and you'll likely have all your questions answered in either the next chapter or the one after that. Also, if you're wondering what path I've chosen for the story, I've managed to find a way to be completely indecisive and not commit. So we've fast-forwarded a year, but I did a flashback. And I will be jumping through time some more. I don't even know. There's a method to my madness, sure, but it eludes me haha

Thanks to AmyLNelson, klandgraf2007, Syrena Swift, and xandra37 for the super sweet reviews! :D

Amy: Howdy! Thanks for the clarification of the school system… I always feel like such a twat when I can't recall that. Regardless, sounds like a lot of fun on your end :) Haha I'm happy you liked Hector and Aeneas' very caveman way of solving their dispute. Let's just beat the crap out of each other and then laugh about it. I know you suggested a reconciliation between Myrina and Aeton, and I hope this was suitable (fingers crossed)! Let me know what you think, and thanks for the support xoxo

klandgraf: I totally laughed when I read your "HOT!" Made my day :) I know you said you'd be fine either way, and hopefully my indecisiveness won't irritate you (or anyone else for that matter… It's irritating me a little actually. I wrote three completely separate versions of this chapter… This is the longest aside ever.) Oh and that you enjoyed this chapter! Thanks :D

Syrena: Ok so I know you chose your named after falling in love with a mermaid (sounds like the start of a cheesy pick up line), but every time I read it, I have flashbacks to my Sailor Moon days –which makes me very happy when I read your name haha I digress… You are wonderful. Thank you so much for the sweet words like seriously. Getting the sexiest sexy time in the universe stamp from you is like my holy shit moment. I'm glad I can give you something to day dream about in class or at work haha You made my freakin' day, and I swear to you Myrina/Hector… _Herina _(or Myctor?) babies are to come hahaha :D

xandra: Damn gurl you read fast! ;) Not that I'm complaining. I'm happy to have you up to speed and to see your reaction to it all! Egads :D FINALLY a happy ending, I know. In truth, I was planning on taking the story an entirely different direction, but halfway through I had a change of heart (with the help of some crass words from a friend haha). Regardless, here we are now and moving forward, closer and closer toward the end! :X I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well, and thanks for the kind review! xoxo


	41. Glory at the Gate

Chapter 40  
"Glory at the Gate"

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Recommended Songs: "The Immortals" – Kings of Leon & "When the Levee Breaks" – Led Zeppelin

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"What does it feel like?" Phegea asked with her innocent chocolate eyes, round and uncorrupted, focused on Myrina alone.

"Hush now! She doesn't wish to tell you such things," Laodice intercepted from her sister's right. Arguably the most beautiful of Priam's daughters as gossips told, she fretted uneasily with her tawny brown hair and was visibly vexed that her younger sister had joined her to visit Myrina's chambers.

"It's fine. I don't want you to hold your tongues for my comfort," she assured Phegea with a reassuring smile considering her young age, though truthfully she was relieved by Laodice's intervention.

In the two years since her marriage to Hector, she had grown accustomed to his sisters' odd visits. Hector's brothers mostly kept their distances aside from the eldest ones, Paris, Deiphobus, and Helenus. Paris and she naturally assumed a relationship fitting of their alliance, as though they had been brother and sister all this time and reunited now, but the others rarely spoke with her outside their brother's company. His sisters, however, assumed her door was constantly open to greet their dilemmas, questions, or other difficulties –specifically when they wished to keep matters from reaching Priam or Hecuba's ears. _"They look up to you_," Hector had explained to her through a laugh early in their marriage. _"Cassandra has her own matters to handle… You are the eldest they can turn to_."

"I can't imagine finding love. My brothers are impossible to handle-"

"You will not marry your brothers, you foolish girl!" Laodice interrupted again with a hot exhale, and the sharp wave of her temper drew Myrina from her thoughts to be engaged in their trivial conversation.

"I know that!"

The elder daughter threw an omniscient look at Myrina who pretended not to receive it. "It is more difficult for princesses to find love in a match. We're cast off to the highest bidder as if we were oxen."

"You have no say in the matter?" she wondered earnestly since she had never discussed the prospect of the princesses' marriages before now.

"None… I don't pray for love. I pray for a kind husband who will raise neither his voice nor hand to me."

"I doubt your father would marry you to a man who was not honorable," Myrina assured her kindly.

"Cannot men hide their faults? My father is more concerned with who marries his sons. It is the only true worry for a ruler."

Phegea lowered her voice to explain, "Laodice will be married next though she does not wish to be."

"I would rather be a priestess of Apollo."

"Father says all the men would curse him if he allows it."

"Will Cassandra not be married before you?" Myrina wondered and idly adjusted the bracelets on her wrist. "I've always known it to follow the order of birth."

"Cassandra can't be married."

"Why not?"

"Her fits." Both sisters now granted Myrina the same static look, brimming with memories she didn't share. She bowed her head slightly as an acknowledgement of her ignorance and listened with a certain disconnect as the conversation continued down other paths until noon came, and the women departed to handle their own affairs. In their stead, she was left to her solitude mostly aside from Callicide's company; the older woman had grown to be a close friend more than a servant in their two years together. When the afternoon brought a darkening to the sky, Hector returned from court, looking worn and slightly frustrated though he managed a welcome smile as his eyes landed on his wife.

"You look exhausted," she commented sympathetically, and he found rest in a seat around the stone basin at the center of their room, piled with logs to be lit when night fell.

"There are complications with the outposts in the east."

"Again? You've ridden to the border often to handle these affairs. How can there be further complications?"

The loaded look thrown her direction suggested he had voiced these questions as well, and the slumping of his shoulders gave her an idea how poorly they were addressed. "The Hittite Empire fell, and lawlessness and anarchy remains in their northern lands… But there is word the Assyrians have sailed from the east to assume their ally's territory."

"If the Assyrians have the strength to take the Hittite's lands, that concerns you…"

"Powers rise and fall like the waves on the Aegean, but this is a far reach for the ruler's arm. To embrace so much land, he must have a hunger. Few have been able to control so vast a stretch of territory. I doubt his endurance, but not his greed… There are rumors spreading in the east that a new emperor of Assyria has arisen. That unlike his father who was a peaceful man, he wants for more influence."

"And what better influence is there than conquering a great nation?" He nodded stiffly, and she stood to approach him and sweep her fingers across his brow as though to smooth away the tension, responsibility, and anxiety he carried there. "One man cannot hold the world." One corner of his mouth hiccupped in an almost smile while he let his wife's touch and presence soothe the aches as if she gave him a relief from the yoke carried daily across his shoulders. She noted how the tension surrounding him vanished, and she bent to replace her fingers with her lips, drawing a trail from his brow down toward his ear, as she added, "Men may look toward the sun, but they've no wings to carry them."

His large hands found her waist and drew her to settle in his lap where he could rest the weight of his head in the crook where her neck met her shoulder. That delicate curve seemed to be carved intentionally to fit him where her scent was strongest, and he challenged, "Doesn't stop men from trying."

"Then discourage him."

"I've spent the morning arguing with my father's counselors and generals on this matter, but I think tomorrow I'll send you in my stead," he teased gently and straightened now to be on eye level with her. "If men were so simple, my love, war would be a game –not a necessity, if engaged at all."

"If it were impossible, wouldn't every conflict result in war?" she suggested with a tentative smile.

"True, but not everyone can afford to be so optimistic."

"You advocate the good of a man, of trusting his word, but you fear the worst of him when his back is turned."

"No," he corrected swiftly, "I am responsible for the protection of my country. I seek out every possibility. If I only planned on his good will and limitations, I would be sorely unprepared when he charged our beaches."

"You have walls built by gods' hands, legions of soldiers, and an armory stacked with weapons… Troy is always prepared for war."

"Better prepared than surprised." Her lips flattened abruptly, letting a short exhale leave her nostrils, as she looked away to consider the wall behind him in a hard stare. "I know that look."

"What?"

"You're annoyed with me. Why? I've never discouraged you from speaking openly with me."

Her gaze flickered back to him, but she rose from his lap and shifted toward the opposite end of the room to retrieve her cup of water. "You find my ideas amusing."

"It's refreshing," he assured her and stood as well though to cross toward the balcony. "You keep me from growing cynical like the old men in court, and you keep me honest of my true intentions."

She turned back toward him and drummed her fingers thoughtfully on the bronze of her cup, listening to the soft succession of clinks, before she decided, "I never realized your strategy until I married you."

"What strategy?"

"You test my limits and then act your most charming when I'm annoyed." She raised her cup in the air as though it were a sword. "You run to battle and then kiss your enemy's wounds."

"You're not my enemy," he said and laughed at the notion. "I wouldn't want you for one." Her brow knit with confusion which only encouraged his grin to grow. "You would be a brutal opponent, my love. Your temper rivals any man's, you're stubborn as I am, you know my every weakness, and you recall everything."

"Women never forget," she agreed with a nostalgic smile as she thought of her conversation with Isidora years ago.

"That is why men bed women and do not give them a sword." Her cup was returned to the table with the effect of her sword being sheathed once more, and his success spurred him to taunt good-naturedly, "Have you spent all day planning Troy's future, or have you attended other matters?"

She rolled her eyes emphatically though only for show as she recounted, "Your sisters Laodice and Phegea visited me today."

"What did they wish to see you about?"

"I suppose to be kind and speak with me."

"I told you they would come to you. They're curious about their sister-in-law, but if they bother you, you don't have to receive them." He had told her this early in their marriage, but while taking a cup of water, he reminded her again, "They're too accustomed to barging into my quarters to arrest me with every menial problem they have."

"I don't mind their visiting," she assured him earnestly but considered how impossible it would be to turn them away. That insult could not be delivered gracefully, and women held grudges for lifetimes. "It was nice to speak with them."

"What did they wish to talk about?"

"Marriage." Hector paused with his cup poised at his lips and laughed abruptly. "Laodice says she will be married next."

"In time. Suitors will come for her hand, but father does not have the time to search them out. I imagine she told you of her desire to be a priestess? She only does it to dramatize her responsibilities and receive attention."

"Perhaps she's afraid… I was too."

"Don't be fooled by her charm. She's as interested in men as they are in her."

"You think you were the only man to catch my eye?" she challenged with an impish smile.

His eyes appraised her momentarily before deciding, "If I was not, I don't wish to know. Leave me ignorant and proud." She shook her head through a laugh as he continued, "One of my father's councilmen has a son, Helicaon, has had his eye on Laodice for some time. He will no doubt step forward to court her when he gathers the nerve." His face stiffened in a sudden realization, and he glanced at his wife with a telling expression of his own chagrin that he knew far too much of this topic. She laughed once more since the thought was on her tongue as well, but their pleasant conversation was soon shattered by the bellow of the bells at the walls. Hector's cup fell with the smile on his face, and he rushed through the columns to peer out over his city with his wife on his heels. He lingered long enough to make out the ships thrust well onto the sand of Troy's beaches, but he soon turned to abandon his royal robes in lieu of his armor. Myrina remained later, each call of the bronze bell make her shudder in a new wave of terror like even the tips of her nails were quaking, and when she had the sense to think it, she returned inside their quarters to see Hector slipping on his undershirt and chest plate.

As if it were not confirmation enough, she nervously wondered, "An army approaches?"

"Yes," he answered, latching his chest plate snuggly to his body before slinging his sword and sheath across his chest, and he grabbed his gauntlets and shin guards with the intent of lacing them inside the armory while he gave commands to the men. First, he twisted to acknowledge the pallor of her face, tense and aware of the signal's echo through his streets. His palm cupped her cheek in the only comfort he could spare as he commanded, "Find Callidice. Have her take you to the gate."

Her hand never had the chance to cover his for he was across their room in a few strides, rushing through the door with such haste that he left it ajar in his wake even as she called out to his back, "Hector!" She hurried after him to stand in the threshold of their quarters and watch him disappear around the corner without a gaze thrown back. To her left, she heard the blunt slapping of sandals on the palace floors and turned to acknowledge Callidice's breathless approach.

"My lady!"

"Callidice… We must go to the gate."

The call haunted the streets until the army was poised, and the men sounding the alarm were stolen from the towers to join their brothers in lines before the stone walls. Soldiers filed in and out of the armory with disciplined rapidity, arming themselves with swords, spears, shields, and helmets, under the Prince's watchful eye. Hector brought word from his father to the generals gathered there, giving commands and distributing their ranks in a defensive position, until it was time to mount his steed and meet the army outside. Apollo drew the sun high above him as though he were lingering longer in the sky to give his blessing and light to his loyal worshipers. Beneath his sky, the plains were still in anticipation, and Hector strained for the familiar rumble of footfalls to signal the foreign army's approach. Soon the wind carried the powerful thunder their direction. He glanced at Glaucus who was at his side, and the older man grinned in good spirits.

"A fine day for battle, my Prince." Hector smirked and continued twisting to look up toward the position high upon the wall where royalty gathered to watch the battle unfolding, and Glaucus acknowledged, "Your first time to fight with a woman on your mind."

"No," he corrected shortly since she had a place in his thoughts since he was a boy, and he turned once more to face the plains before them. He had forgotten the pin at his waist, but he had her presence to bolster him. Ahead of him, he could just make out the black line on the horizon of the approaching army. "But her first time to watch me fight."

"Don't disappoint her."

"She will only be disappointed if there is a fight."

"Troy's greatest soldier married to a lover of peace," Glaucus managed through his bellow of deep laughter. "We did not call these forces to our home."

"No, but we will send them back to theirs."

"Aye, Prince Hector, and you may be surprised by a woman's… _passion_ for war." His brow knit incredulously over the chestnut eyes now considering Glaucus to be certain he was discerning the meaning of his words properly. The older man kept his lips sealed save the wolfish grin he donned, and Hector didn't care to clarify on this occasion. The anticipatory silence between them spoke enough as they watched the army draw closer, sizing up the breadth of it and deciphering their armaments.

"What symbol do they bear?" the general wondered while squinting his aging eyes.

"A four point star with an eye in the center," Hector clarified in a distant tone. "What country keeps that emblem?"

"Assyria," he answered, abruptly sobered by this news.

When the army was still a distance away, the call was given for them to halt, and a chariot continued solely into the space between. Hector and Glaucus rode to meet him halfway, eager to see the King of Assyria who had arrived unannounced. He was a stately slender man, younger than Glaucus which both Trojans had anticipated. Only a young king would attempt something so brash, and his tanned skin housed dark eyes, heavy brows, and a thick black beard. Even in his armor, he was adorned with heavy gold at his wrists, a robust burgundy undershirt, and detailed bronze helm with a black plume tucked beneath his arm. Another man stood behind him in the chariot, not doubt a general or some other army official.

He smiled when they stopped at the center of the field and took his time assessing both Hector and Glaucus before he spoke in a thick accent, "Where is Priam, King of the Trojans?"

"Within the walls, King of Assyria," Hector returned neutrally. His chestnut eyes strayed from his opponent's face to appraise his gathered forces with the ease of a man examining supper lined on a table. The soldiers gazed back at him, some hungry, others lost, and still more fearful. Men with fathers, brothers, wives, and perhaps children. A muscle flexed in his jaw, and his attention returned to the King, now sober and irritated with the prospect of bloodshed on his plains.

He chuckled lightly and corrected, "Ashur-nirari, son of Ashur-nasir-pal. You know of me."

"Enough… I am Hector, first son of Priam. I speak for my father and for Troy."

"I expected to have words with your father, ruler to ruler," the man returned, and his nostrils fretted in visible frustration that he was faced with a young prince as if it were an insult to his authority.

"You travelled a far way to exchange words, and with ships bloated from the many soldiers they carry... A few thousand of your personal guards?"

Ashur's eyes narrowed suspiciously to steal all joviality from his expression. "You mock me, Prince of Troy?"

"It is no insult to say your purpose," he rejoined severely. "No diplomats or letters were sent to Troy. You did not come here to speak, King of Assyria, and you are unwelcome. Take your men and leave."

The man behind Ashur growled something in his native tongue and reached for his blade. As swiftly as Hector and Glaucus touched their hilts, Ashur lifted his hand, and the man quickly abandoned his combative stance with the hostile expression of a whipped dog. The two Trojans reluctantly followed suit despite the thick tension swelling in the space between both armies and swallowing the four men gathered in the center like the slithering waves of heat rising from the ground.

"I come to speak of Troy's interest in Assyria."

"Troy has no interest in Assyria," Hector responded with a heavy frown to his brow.

"Troy has shown an interest enough in our allies, the Hittites, when you joined Cilicia in war against them."

"The Hittite Empire fell from its own corruption –not our blades. Rather than seeking expansion and invading Cilicia's borders, the King should have turned his eye to his own lands."

"Not yet a king, but you speak as such." Ashur smiled in amusement once more, his gaze patronizing Hector by effect, and the Trojan gritted his teeth to sustain that look. "We assumed the Hittite lands before Phygria could, and I've been informed Troy builds new armored battlements along the eastern border. What do you build for, young Prince?"

"The protection of my people… Your questions would have been better received by a diplomat and your answers better delivered, but I see none before me. Only an army prepared for war. What do you expect to find in Troy, King Ashur?"

"Expansion." His dark eyes flashed greedily. "Greece unifies beneath Agamemnon. Why does Anatolia not unify beneath Ashur-nirari?"

Hector's grip on his reigns tensed at the proposal, waiting out the wave of fury pummeling through him, before he warned near a growl, "The only refuge your men will find in Troy is a place to rest their bodies before they're burned on the pyre."

Ashur's man, sensing his king's tumultuous anger, whispered a swift comment in their language. Immediately, Ashur's eyes shifted to the walls of Troy, narrowing to make out the lines of archers waiting their Prince's signal. When his gaze returned to Hector, the Trojan could narrowly make out the subdued doubt, but it was enough to draw the smirk onto his lips. The Assyrian King waved his hand nonchalantly as if suddenly bored with the prospect of battle. "Why must we waste lives unnecessarily? In my grandfather's time, wars were fought between the best soldier each country chose. They were simpler, quicker. What say you to a war of old?"

"A single fight." Ashur nodded, smiling once more, for he could see the pride flourishing in Hector's eyes. "If your man wins?"

"I will speak with Priam and determine the terms of my rule over Troy."

"And if my man wins, you leave our shores and never return –not even when your son rises after you or his after him."

"We have an agreement, Prince of Troy. Call your warrior, and may Ashur smile on the victor." With no words left to exchange, the four men parted ways, and Hector and Glaucus galloped back toward their troops where the generals had gathered to hear the news.

"We fight, my Prince?" Lysander spoke up first considering the tense sobriety of Hector's features.

"No," he answered as he dismounted, "I do."

Immediately the men's eyes turned to Glaucus for explanation, but he was preoccupied seeking out his own answers. "Send Lykaon or Kleitos. You're our Prince. You're not meant to fight these battles."

"Aren't I?" he challenged while grabbing his spear and glancing up the walls. "I won't let another man fight for my country." Acknowledging the alarm in the older general's eyes, Hector clapped him on the shoulder. "I will not lose. Send a man up to inform my father." The words delivered, he slipped on his helmet and turned to march toward the center of the field.

"You'll give him no time to disagree!" Hector didn't turn, and Glaucus growled in annoyance beneath his breath before catching the nearest soldier by his chest plate. "Go to the King! Tell him that Hector fights Assyria's best for Troy!" The man ran as if alighted by Hermes himself, and the general turned to see the fight unfold.

"He won't lose," Lysander asserted. "He would die first."

"It won't come to that," Glaucus grumbled discontentedly.

In the middle of the plains, Hector continued his determined stride and listened to the reverberation of his footfalls, heartbeat, and breath amplify within the barriers of his helmet. The clamor melded with his own uncertain thoughts, his own misgivings that he would place Troy's position on the table with only his sword to protect her. 'What other option is there?' he wondered. 'Sacrificing my soldiers to feed one man's greed?' He swallowed heavily as he could feel the rage building in his gut and rising up his chest and the back of his throat with a sickening acidic taste –like he were infected with the poisonous ashes of Hades. A soldier stepped forward from the Assyrian ranks after swift deliberation to meet the Trojan Prince, and Hector watched his opponent approach in fluid movements that spoke of his courage. Kill one and save many. It was a fair trade by both counts. Behind him a steady drumming beat out, mistakable for his own heart in his ears, but the two notes separated, causing Hector to turn his head with his profile to his army where he could better hear their thundering. They beat their fists and spears against their shields with the unnerving singularity of one man, and their support did not go disregarded. Recognizing their unity and strength behind him, it infected him with purpose and drive so that all his doubts slipped away –only the steady beat remained as the sound of Troy's heart and his own.

The two men paused several strides from each other, near enough that the Assyrian could make out Hector's face beneath his helmet, but the foreigner bore the pointed helm of his country with a piece of scarlet fabric drawn over his mouth and nose to keep out the sand, leaving only his bright green eyes to meet Hector's. Within them, he saw the piercing concentration of an animal, the singular thought and motivation, and the threat of what would follow. The Prince remained undaunted and plunged his spear into the dry soil in exchange for his bronze blade. His opponent kept his at the ready, only readjusting his grip, but the two soldiers waited patient and restlessly for the first move to be made. In response to the Trojans' drumming, the Assyrians called out in their native tongue, and the forces collided in a bizarre meld of the two countries. Where the beat had given him strength, Hector now only heard the silence before their fight as an echo of the perfect stillness in his mind, and likewise, the Assyrian calls were a distant howl muffled by his helmet and the winds sweeping dust across the plains. The expectant rigidity between them reached unbearable limits, and the Assyrian charged with the calls of his people to guide him.

Hector broke forth in response, keeping to an easy jog even as the Assyrian sped toward him, and he dodged the first stab of his spear and kept right, raising his shield to deflect the next attack. The last one slid over the top of his shield, and he drove his blade down, severing the bronze tip from the wood in an explosive crack. Unflinching, the Assyrian spun the weapon in his grip until the remaining bronze point was poised for attack. The first flare of their fight did little to extinguish the intensity in their sustained gazes, and they circled each other keenly like two predators sizing up their rival. Only one would remain. Hector sprinted forward, and the Assyrian raised his shield defensively to catch the blade. The Prince pushed further until their shields met in a loud clamor, but this close the Assyrian's weapon was useless. He tried to push the Trojan back, but Hector dug in his heels, throwing his weight forward with the rush of his blade aimed for the man's head. The Assyrian growled in frustration and fell back in a quick spin though the edge of Hector's sword grazed the back of his chest plate to leave a clean mark. As swiftly, he turned toward the Trojan and stabbed with his spear, causing Hector to retreat while dodging the well aimed blows. The quick charge had the Prince blindly withdrawing to gain space between them, but in his haste, his heel caught on one of the rocks nestled in the dirt.

The momentum threw him onto his back, and he barely raised his blade to deflect the stab aimed for his face. It landed directly beside the crook of his neck, near enough to cause the hairs there to bristle. Hector moved to sit up but realized too late that the spear was caught in his undershirt. He abandoned his sword and shield abruptly to grab the spear with both hands and used every bit of strength to yank at it, but it was firmly planted in the dirt. The Assyrian grinned with the greedy eyes of a man who had stabbed a fat hog and reached for his hilt, and Hector's gaze left his to flicker up the stone walls of his city where he swore he could see a flash of white at the top. Suddenly his muscles contracted around him, tearing the spear from the ground, and he sat up in the offensive and struck at the Assyrian who bound back and out of the way. When he moved forward to pummel Hector down, the Prince had already rolled to his feet with his shield and sword in each hand, and he attacked in such vigor, the foreigner was visibly stunned. He swung his shield, catching the edge of the man's jaw, and used the force to spin on his heel and thrust his blade down on the next revolution. The Assyrian narrowly deflected it with his raised shield, and Hector backed off, rotating his blade in his hand to rest it atop his shield with the tense, aggressive stance of a warrior while his men roared to life behind him. The foreigner stumbled back and removed his helm and cloth from his face to reveal the blood dripping from his mouth and into his thick black beard. He spit the violent red liquid from his mouth, his green eyes now alight in fury, and he abruptly dropped his shield and drew an axe from his waist as well.

The Assyrian charged, but Hector kept his place this time to meet him. The axe hit his raised shield first, sending a reverberation of its power up Hector's arm, and the blade followed to stab Hector's side. Its glint in the sunlight was the only warning to the Prince who twisted out of the way. The foreigner didn't pause and swung each weapon with methodical precision as if he had been bred for battle, and Hector struggled to catch every blow in time or deflect it with his blade. His overwhelming exertion proved too much, and the sword catch Hector's left arm beneath his shoulder to slice open the skin. Blood stung as it mixed with sweat and dirt to trail down his arm, looking more gruesome than the wound was. The Assyrians joined in a call that their warrior had landed the first injury, but Hector was unconcerned. The man now allowed the Prince a chance at distance, and the latter dropped his shield to grab his spear, halving it with a powerful swing of his blade. Shorter it was better used for close combat, and the Assyrian revealed his blood stained teeth in a grin of approval. Hector had no pity for his opponent. No, he wished to see the life leave his green eyes when he killed him.

His fury drove him forward, and he sidestepped the downward thrust of the Assyrian's axe and ducked the swing of his blade so close it cut the blue plume from Hector's helmet. The sweat pooling beneath rushed down his brow to sting his eyes, and he shot up once the blade had passed to strike the axe from his grip. The blade hissed through the air as it swung back toward Hector's side, and the Trojan quickly caught it with his sword. The foreigner barely caught Hector's wrist before his spear could dig into his shoulder, and their weapons held the tension between them. Above the crossed weapons, Hector stared into the face of his enemy with teeth gritting in the effort to hold his weight, but his helmet proved his next attack. He butted his head forward to hit the man directly in the brow, and the bronze sent him tumbling backward with eyes dazed by the force while Hector's blade fell to slice open his thigh. Once more the distance between them interrupted their fight, and Hector threw off his helmet so the sun and wind could dry the sweat and allow him to see better. Each man tensed with aggravation that neither could land the final blow and end this battle, but between them, the last strike was decided. With only his blade to protect him, the Assyrian charged as if indomitable, and Hector met his ferocious attacks. Their blades crackled as they met again, but the Assyrian threw him off and immediately swung to sever the tip of his spear. Immediately Hector disposed of the useless weapon and swung down with his sword, but the foreigner caught it once more, groaning with the effort to match Hector's strength. He abruptly twisted away to let Hector's blade fall through the air. As he turned back with his weapon raised in attack, Hector caught his wrist in the air and drove his blade forward through the man's chest. Eye to eye, he saw the familiar painful shock fading swiftly toward recognition and fear, and then the subtle flicker like the shiver of a waning flame extinguished with one breath. His final exhale was choked out through flooded lungs, but it was the only sound for the plains had gone deathly silent.

Hector removed his blade with a rough jerk and released the man's body to crumble to the ground. He stared breathless and furious at the army in front of him and raised his sword stained red and still dripping with the man's warm blood to single out Ashur. "Leave Troy and never return, or your army won't protect you from me!" Behind him, his army roared in celebration and confirmation of his threat, and he allowed his arm to fall to his side as he turned to return toward his home. Assyrians rushed forward to collect the dead warrior, mounting him atop their shoulders and carrying him as the army retreated. Lysander was the first to clap him on the shoulder when Hector met his men, and he paused before them to raise his hand. The swiftly quieted and craned their necks to see and hear him, and the Prince called out, "Troy is mother to us all. No matter the army we face, no matter the station we hold, remember that we fight for her and meet as brothers in the afterlife!" The army howled once more, and the gates parted behind them like the men shifting from his path to allow him access to his home.

—

Hector stood in the throne hall with the generals while King Priam sat upon his great chair and clutched the arms with the tense task of a ruler. The wound on his arm was tied with a makeshift bandage, the stained white fabric tore from his wife's gown when he decided to speak with his father rather than allow her to stitch his wound. It was a testament to how little riches and gowns mattered to Myrina and to how resolved she was to care for him. Both caused him to bear the tourniquet without shame.

"A mighty enemy rose against Troy today," he remarked with a distant look to his eyes. "They are not the first, and they will not be the last."

"I was given the King's word," Hector spoke up. "His country will leave Troy untouched."

"A man's word may be broken as easily as the tide shifts, but let us hope this pact will be more enduring."

"He was humiliated today," Glaucus added and threw a proud look Hector's direction. "He'll keep his distance before he suffers another embarrassment."

"You did not wait for my command, Hector," Priam reflected with his icy blue eyes void of any telling signs. It was a look Hector had dreaded as a young man but which he now faced undaunted.

"Time is not a luxury in war. I didn't want Trojan blood spilled on our soil as a price for one man's greed."

"You bartered for Troy's sovereignty without consulting the King."

"I've acted as an ambassador for Troy many times. Our walls remain in tact and our countrymen free. It was a decision made in haste but not irrationally."

"I know." Hector's brow knit uncertainly before he could stop himself, and Priam smiled with the omniscient air he sometimes bore. "You saved many lives and risked your own for your country."

"As does every soldier of Troy."

His blue eyes flashed in amusement at his son's stubborn humility, and he bent forward in his throne. "Only one man faced Assyria this afternoon." Hector's tongue caught for lack of a response, but he kept his defensive attitude in preparation of the turn in his father's tone. Instead, Priam relaxed back into his seat and looked at the other generals gathered. "It has been years since I have fought alongside my countrymen, the proud fearless servants of Troy who bear arms against her enemies. I've allowed my trusted friends to obey my orders and to lead in my stead, but Troy has lacked a single voice to command it in times of war. I've often considered the dilemma of granting the army's control to one man. What man wishes the responsibility of holding thousands of fates at his fingertips? I would not have one who would recklessly endanger my people…" He drummed his fingers lightly on the stone arm, and Hector took advantage of the break in his words to glance sidelong at the generals. They all shared the same resolved look, and he had the alienating sense of a silent conversation exchanged without his participation. "A Commander of Troy must be loyal, quick witted, and steadfast. He must know when to fight and when to retreat, where to strike, how to read his enemy, and above all, he must understand the price of life and be willing to trade his own for the better of his soldiers." His finger ceased drumming abruptly, and the expectant pause rolled the weight of a boulder onto Hector's chest. "He must have the respect of his peers –for who would listen to a man they don't esteem?"

"No wise man," Glaucus answered with a sheen to his eyes.

"My old friend, would you ever lead Troy's army?" The pressure on Hector's chest increased tenfold until the bones were poised to crack beneath it, and he couldn't fit a breath into his lungs.

"No," he replied and chuckled, and Hector exhaled shortly, causing a glance from the general. "I better serve Troy in my position."

"Or you Euryalus?"

"My old bones wouldn't permit it, my King," the general rejoined with a curt nod as if agreeing to something unsaid. "I would make a recommendation if you would hear it."

"I've always encouraged your counsel," Priam agreed with a permissive wave of his hand.

"By the qualities you've named, there is only one man who warrants such responsibility and could bear this title."

"Only one?"

"That I know, my lord."

"You as well, Glaucus?"

"Yes," the man assured him without pause. Hector wished to speak the milieu of thoughts spinning around his head, but his body with leaden with anticipation.

"Name your commander."

"Your son, Prince Hector, heir to Troy," Euryalus answered.

"Hector," Glaucus agreed not a moment later, and Hector's stomach fell to his feet, his face void in surprise.

"What say the rest of you?" Priam demanded swiftly. They agreed in variants of his name and title, and the King's eyes rotated slowly to consider his son who bore the grave look of man faced with his fate. "My father told me a king's worth is determined by the wisdom of those who surround him. By this formula, I would be a fool not to recognize your merit, and I saw for myself this day the qualities you bear." Hector stared terrified and mesmerized simultaneously without a single word to illuminate the vacancy of his expression. Priam chuckled and stood from his throne to approach his son and clap him firmly on the shoulder. "Troy has found its commander."

His father's touch sent a shock through Hector's body, and he bowed before the King with the assurance, "No man is more honored."

"According to your fellows, no man is more worthy." Hector straightened to look his father in the eye, and the pride reverberating from the blue orbs made Hector's jaw twitch uneasily. Around them the generals clapped and called out their approval, but no validation was as rewarding as the content smile on his father's face.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Hey gorgeous gals! I have way too much fun with fight scenes. I realize this "war" with Assyria seems short-lived, but since I'm fast-forwarding through time, I didn't want to be bogged down in a war when we have the Trojan War coming up. Still, I need Hector's reputation to grow, and I wanted Hector to be named as the commander. The next chapter is mostly written, so it should be up by the weekend :) P.S. This is a year after the last chapter in case I wasn't clear enough about that... I feel lame sometimes when I make it so obvious.

Thank you to SarcasticEnigma, Syrena Swift, AmyLNelson, and xandra37 for the sweet reviews!

Sarcastic: Lots of CSI? haha just kidding :) Detective Enigma on the case for sure and valid points all around... I will be obnoxious and remain mysterious for the time being, BUT I can promise you a definitive answer in the following chapter! Thanks for the review and for reading! It's great to know you're set to unravel the ambiguity :D xoxo

Syrena: You approve of the compromise? I'm glad because as I said, I'm winging it in a very -er- professional, authorial sort of way... Yea. Kinda. Ok so honestly I actually wrote a chapter about Isidora's death, and it made me too sad so I couldn't post it. I'm such a baby, but I really liked Isidora so why did I have to kill her? She was very old so realistically it panned out, and I wanted Myrina to grow up and her relationship with Hector to strengthen by result. Maybe when I edit the story after it's finished, I'll revive her because it totally bums me out. Hectina! That's the name you came up with. Love it :) Can we trademark that? haha Thanks for the support, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter :D

Amy: It was a quick update! I've have been absolutely swamped these past few months which has put a damper on my updating, but this month I got a little bit of a reprieve so I'm writing like a mad woman. However, I'm working on an essay for scholarly publication now that is proving time consuming, and the end of the semester is coming up so I might be MIA yet again :( I get this evil satisfaction out making you guys wonder what the hell I'm doing (like when I made Aeneas kidnap Myrina and everyone was like wtf?), but I promise you'll have your questions answered in the next chapter! Thanks, lovely xoxo

xandra: Romantic woodland frolicking hahahaha I should've titled the last chapter that. You'd get the e-mail and be like huh? You're so sweet. I'm glad you like the way they interact. It's nice to have them interact on a regular basis, and I'm sorry I axed Isidora. Like I told Syrena, I wrote a chapter about her death, but it bummed me out too much to post it haha I worry that I haven't done her justice, but hopefully I can have some sort of tribute to her coming up. I hope you enjoyed this chapter with Hector fighting like a boss! ;)


	42. Given to the Hero

Chapter 41  
"Given to the Hero"

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Recommended Songs: "Kissing in the Rain" – Patrick Doyle & "No One's Gonna Love You" – Band of Horses

* * *

**A Year Later**

Within the infamous walls of Troy Artemis was at play, delivering chill night winds from the sea to agitate the clay pieces of the wind chime and the black curtains drawn around their bed. Her pregnant moon shone down upon the lands and painted the picture of night while thick shadows stretched across the stone floor, reaching toward the bed where Myrina slept. A gust of wind sent the chime swinging with the normally delicate succession of notes turned a violent clatter of sound. The goddess was mischievous to caper through her brother's beloved city, but all eyes of Olympus might be turned in curious anticipation of what would arrive this eve. She stirred with weary adjustments to her position, a straightening of one leg, tucking of her arm, and was soon poised for Morpheus to shield her, but the pressure remained. A wave of tension grew in her abdomen to encourage the discomfort creasing her brow, and she exhaled a grumble, rubbing a hand across her swollen stomach to massage the stretched muscles beneath. In another moment, she knew the strain would ease and give her a chance at sleep, and so it did. Her comfort had become subjective, and during the months she grew to ignore the constant ache of her muscles, the pressure propped up beneath her ribcage, the fluid pooling around her ankles and feet no matter how little she stood or walked, and the constant fatigue from interrupted sleep. She settled immediately, her body leaden with exhaustion, and stroked her fingers across the high hill, smiling though dipped half in sleep as she envisioned the little hands beneath reaching back.

It bladed swifter, harder, deeper toward her back, and she curled in the bed while protectively cradling her swollen stomach even as the breath shot sharply from her lips. The muscles wrapped one over the other with a strength she couldn't fight, and she groaned loudly and closed her eyes as her whole body was swept up in the contraction. Another beat, and it dissolved. She sucked the breaths in uneven strokes, forgetting to exhale until her lungs burned, and the sweat suddenly pooling across her brow turned cold in the night breeze. Her heart ricocheted in her ears, a steady drumming to drown out the silence, and one hand shook as it reached beneath the sheets, under her gown, and between her heavy thighs now slick with sweat and a denser fluid. Eyes unfocused, her fingers searched out that substance she knew from barely a year past their marriage, and an icy chill tore through her more forceful than any night wind. She snatched her hand away and lifted her fingers into the moonlight, staring perplexed and terrified at the foreign substance, but where she expected the tips to be stained dark red, they were as pale as usual and slick. The realization consumed her with the weight of an ocean flooding over her, and at it's front was another wave to crash upon her. She doubled over, choking through a caught breath as her body coiled in on itself, instinctively pressing, contracting, holding while her muddled thoughts webbed thickly behind her eyes and blinded her to reason. The muscles reached around to her back as though invisible arms caught her between, and when she could breech the surface, she gasped for air as disoriented and harrowed as a woman marooned at sea.

"Hector," she groaned through trembling lips and stretched to touch his arm. Her fingers met vacant sheets and scrambled desperately for his heated skin, but she could not will his presence anymore than she could cease her contractions. "No," she cursed whatever deity would listen, crumpling the sheets into her hands and preparing for the next assault with merely her own presence to comfort her. Nothing could brace her for the blade of pain shooting through her abdomen, growing stronger each time, and a short cry left her lips, loud enough to encourage the knocking at her door.

"My lady, is all well?" the gruff male voice called forth, but the pressure left her no air to speak or power to breathe. "My lady?"

The grip released with the promise of a return, and she struggled to kneel as though she could force her control in such a position. Through her drawn breath, she commanded, "Call my husband!"

"My lady… The Prince is at the border."

"Call him!"

The anxiety of her tone prompted the young guard to open the door, hesitant even as he took such a brazen action, to only allow one eye. "My lady," he stuttered apologetically that he caught her in her sleeping robes and moved to close the door until she fell forward onto her hands, gasping as if breathless and tense from toe to nose. The pressure built with unwavering resolve, and she could scarcely rock from her hands toward her knees and back to make room for her breath or thoughts as the embrace of pain closed down on her.

Gazing through her veil of mussed hair, she saw the pallor of his face illuminated by the moonlight with jaw slack in horror, and when she found the will to speak, she growled the same command against clenched teeth, "Call him!"

The man jerked as if shocked, rushing uneasily forward to hit the door and cry out in surprise, before he took to the hallway and stared dazed and petrified at the older guard stationed farther down the corridor. The flames licked forth from the bronze basins, and the guard glanced sidelong at his companion, sharpening his attention when he noticed the man's face ripe with panic. The words tumbled out of his mouth, all uneasy starts and stops, "The Princess… She-she…. It is- she calls-"

"Spit it out, man!" the guard barked bluntly as he approached and curled his fingers around his blade in instinct. Through the door still ajar, a telltale groan of pain slipped past, and both men froze with eyes fixated on each other.

The younger guard's features relaxed abruptly as if he surrendered to his own impotence, and finally, he revealed, "The child comes."

The older man sprung into action with no further prodding and directed each guard in the corridor, "Wake the midwife! And the Princess' handmaiden and her servants! Be swift about it!"

Still lingering with nerves awry, the guard blurted out, "She calls for the Prince."

His gaze turned, and he nodded curtly. "Send a messenger to the border. Go!"

Though only minutes, it seemed an eternity later that the midwife and aid arrived to surround her with knowledgeable resolve. Basins were brought, hot water boiled, and stacks of cloth folded and piled high. No matter how menial the items, Myrina gazed at each with wide disconnect as though everything were foreign and strange beneath this moon. The midwife observed the pool staining her sheets in a swift glance and rubbed her fingers into Myrina's lower back when another contraction rose to consume her, and the firm touch sent some ease to the muscles there so that pain's grip was not as complete. When it surrendered moments later, the woman touched her belly at the base, feeling all around until she seemed satisfied and announced, "It is time. You must lay back."

The command shocked all the women gathered into their proper positions like a flock of birds scrambling for order. Everyone loomed at the ready but the very woman in the center of it all. Myrina caught her belly in one hand, the other buried childishly between her thighs, and she jerked her head from side to side. "No, no, not yet. Wait for Hector. He must be here."

"He will not make it in time, my lady," the midwife rejoined with her impassive tone shifting fast toward reprimand.

"I will wait." Even as she spoke the words, her hands remained superstitiously poised as though she could hold her child within a moment longer, and the lonely terror struck her in the base of her skull to send a shudder down her spine. Her eyes searched their unfamiliar faces, but each mirrored the same end: she had no choice.

"Your baby will not wait! " the woman snapped and as quickly composed herself. "My lady, you _must_ lay back. Your labor has already begun… Give your husband a child to hold when he returns."

* * *

The campfire illuminated the familiar faces surrounding it where the men had built their tents for the night, still a days' ride from their home. Weeks prior he had received word of their interrupted trade routes leading east past Mount Ida. Attacks in the Hittites' fallen empire were unchecked as Phygria moved in to drive Assyria from the lands, and ruin had a way of attracting villainy like infections growing in an angry wound. His small band of forces provided a quick antidote, but more importantly he took the week to set out plans of reinforcing the outposts which would guard their routes from further disorder. Knowing of his pregnant wife waiting for him, he was more eager than ever to return home and had already spent two days journeying to his city. He longed for the comfort of his bed and the chance to bury his face in the scent of her hair and sink into her soft flesh. The wine in his cup did little to appease the unannounced anxiety rising in his abdomen, and he exhaled the nervous energy while craning his head back to examine the full moon. He suspected Artemis of mischief this evening, but the goddess revealed nothing to him.

"You fought the Hittites, my lord?" one of his soldiers spoke up in curiosity, and the question snapped Hector into their realm once more.

He smiled humorlessly as he considered the passing of time: how quickly it slipped through his fingers now that he wished to still it and savor the days beside his wife. "Long ago."

"It is rumored they are the bastard children of Ares."

"I knew them to be fierce and blood thirsty as any warrior, but mortal."

"Were they the most challenging of your enemies?"

Though there were few years difference between himself and the soldier, Hector inevitably balanced a worn exhaustion heavy with numerous memories, and he drew his lips into a more sardonic smirk, chuckling inwardly at his own mind to experience that weight early in his life; but he had always held a sense that life caught him by the scruff of his neck sooner than any other man he encountered. Responsibility, duty, obligation –it bore many faces, but no name changed the effect. The Fates sent a gust to propel him across his sea, rushing him toward the horizon, and at times a hand would grip him deep in his gut when he felt life spiraling past him while he remained impotent to slow its progression. Rising from the onset of heavy thoughts, he longed even more for the peace her presence brought and stood from his place to clap Alkaios heavily on the shoulder.

"Alkaios fought beside me… He will tell you whether the Hittites are the spawn of Ares or otherwise. But be wary." He grinned candidly and squeezed his brother-in-law's shoulder. "He has a talent for weaving tales."

"You'll retire so early in the night?" the man wondered with a jovial smile to light his blue eyes considering his newly assigned task.

"Yes… Let us reach Troy sooner tomorrow. We ride at day break."

"Yes, my Prince," his men echoed back.

There was a time he would rather meet dawn with his cup in hand and his soldiers surrounding him, exhausted from a night of tales though in high spirits from the company, but his priorities had swiftly shifted after his marriage. Her well being was always on the periphery of his consciousness if not directly being considered, and even when he shed the weight of his armor to slip beneath the sheets on his cot, he imagined her face at the gate of the palace tense in a bittersweet smile as she wished him safe passage to the border. His hands involuntarily stretched with fingers fanned while he recalled how it felt to cradle her swollen belly, palms tingling in nervous anticipation, waiting for a swift kick to be assured of his child's strength and tenacity. In the same way he would lay beside her at night with his arm draped across her and hand spread to hold her stomach while she slept. Sometimes he would whisper pleas for the baby to let her rest uninterrupted; sometimes he only wanted to hold the evidence of his heir, deadened by a feeling he had never known before she entered his life –fear. He would think of that morning he awoke as oblivious and content as a fool, mistakenly tracing the line of her legs to wake her in the only way he yearned that morning. He would remember his blind confusion when his palm and fingers met the sticky layer upon her thighs, how he threw back the sheets of their marital bed, and the sickening way guilt and horror welded to his bones and taught him what it meant to lose something so precious. He never knew that he and his wife could stare at each other a year into their marriage with the vacant eyes of a stranger. Each guilty and innocent and neither.

He felt as ignorant this moment as he had been that morning, and he tensely tossed the ring into the air, hand relaxed and ready to catch it again. It was a gift from his young wife, slipped indiscreetly onto his bedside table after their reconciliation in the woods of Mount Ida, and when he caught it next, he held it between his forefinger and thumb to examine it in the pale moonlight. She was clever to have repurposed the seemingly ancient pin this way. The gold melted down and shaped into a simple band with only the emblem saved and pressed into the center. It had the appearance of any ring bearing the royal hallmark, like the one his father wore, but they understood its significance and its power. He could wear it each day without drawing curiosity from others, and he enjoyed its inconspicuous austerity, hiding and heightening their secret. Gold and jewels and liveries meant little to him, but this piece might as well have been welded by Hephaestus himself for the regard Hector bore it and particularly the woman who gave it to him. The pin had seen him through every battle he faced, and this time was no different.

This time the gods blessed them, and as grateful as he was to kiss her swollen belly and wrap his hands around it, he was as terrified the Fates would change their minds. He and Myrina had the excuse of youth and foolishness to dismiss their distance after the loss, but what would they say now, were it to happen again? How would he protect her and comfort her when he could not control this? He had stolen lives and watched men die, both good and bad, but he couldn't explain Death, less anticipate it. He slipped the ring onto his finger and flexed the knuckles to test how snuggly it fit, and he heard his men disbanding outside to retire to their tents. The first watch was named, but sleep avoided him until the third man took his post.

—

The sky broke a pale blue, clouds heavy with the remnants of night, but Apollo rose in the east, proud and striking behind the black silhouette of Mount Ida. The horses hooves sounded loudly on the ground still chilled from night and as dry and hard as raw bone, but the Prince had kept his word and led the men toward Troy at day break. A day's ride kept him from his pregnant wife, and if it could be managed swifter, he had every intention of doing so. His subordinates were not instilled with the same haste, and by noon the group had taken its second break since they began to rest their limbs and sore bodies. They drank from their gourds and caught their breath while giving their horses a chance to regain their strength.

"Rest your backside, Telestas," one of the older men quipped toward his companion. "We won't see the walls 'til evening."

The latter shot a vexed look to have his weariness prodded, but the expression evaporated as his eyes narrowed to make out the distance. "A rider approaches!"

All the soldiers snapped to the ready, and Lysander alighted a short butte to see the man with his own eyes. "Stay here, my Prince," he called back to Hector while descending once more to mount his horse and draw his spear from the ground. "Alkaios, with me." The two men galloped across the plain toward the rider who did not slow his speed even as they approached with weapons drawn.

"Halt!" Lysander sharply called to him.

The man guided his horse to a stop close enough that both Trojans anxiously lifted their spears for defense. "Peace," he returned, breathless from his pace, and lifted his hand while the other drew his cloak from around him to reveal the uniform beneath. "I am a rider of Troy. I bring an urgent message for the Prince."

"Then waste no time. He waits behind." With the messenger in the lead, the trio rushed back toward the small company.

"My Prince," the man called out when his eyes landed on Hector who stepped forward to acknowledge his title and meet whatever message the man bore. "I bring news from the palace. The Princess sent me."

"What need do my sisters have that cannot wait 'til I return?" he asked, unable to hide the incredulity in his tone that they would waste a messenger so carelessly.

"Your wife, my lord," the man corrected, and the two words were akin to one of Zeus' bolt sent straight into his chest. The stiff hairs on the back of his neck stung in apprehension while his jaw drew a tense line beneath his beard. "She sent me. She thought you were at the border still."

"For what purpose? What has happened?" he growled out severely.

"The Princess woke during the night. She is in labor with your child."

"Myrina," Alkaios murmured with his distressed gaze steady on Hector.

The Trojan Prince froze as inanimate and stoic as a statue adorning the palace halls, but within him a powerful torrent rose, flooding out toward his limbs to test the edges of his silhouette –like he could break the limits of his physicality and reach her that second. Inside, something snapped. He was astride his horse in an instant and charging straight toward his city as though leading his men to war. Podarge, the sturdy black stallion, was a descendent of his grandfather Laomedon's gift from Zeus and trained by Hector himself to be the swiftest horse in Troy. He tested the young colt's limits, bending his chest near its mane to build their speed. Excitement melded with guilt to weave his whole body in a web of explosive unrest, and he cursed his foolishness for abandoning his wife so late in her pregnancy. What had become of her, and the child? Not even an intervention from the Pantheon could slow his journey, and his men were left struggling to keep pace but inevitably stranded in the Prince's wake. His chestnut eyes on the walls of Troy, he did not let Podarge ease his pace –not when they were so close. The gates opened ahead of him, but he wouldn't wait for them to complete their slow yawning. Rather he hedged nearer the steed, guiding them both through the sliver of space between the gates, so narrow the wood of the gate scratched his arm, but he never noticed. He tore through the main street, barking out commands for peasants and merchants and weaving around carts and along the edge of the street, close enough to the temple that some feared he would blasphemously alight the steps. He rode within the palace gates and deep into the entrance until Podarge could carry him no farther. Servants rushed after him to take his horse, but he was already afoot and striding through the corridors as if propelled by Hermes.

Evening was falling over his lands, and bronze basins were alight where they lined his path. As he turned another corner and slipped through the large doorway, he saw the scattered guests lingering around his atrium. Sisters and brothers crowded his way, but his mind was on Myrina and nothing else. He brushed past them without acknowledging their words or glances, almost more irate that they had been here for her labor and not him. Paris stepped into his path with boyish features lifted with a charming smile, and Hector's jealousy tore through him. _Paris_ had seen his child before him? Without thinking, he grabbed the young man's arm and thrust him from his path only to be faced with his mother next. Hecuba read the anxiety in the lines of her son's face and shifted out his way, to Hector's short-lived relief. The entry to his quarters awaited him, and his abdomen twisted in a painful final moment while the servants reached to open the doors.

"My lord, my lord!" the midwife beseeched to gain his attention as she raised a hand and shifted her presence between him and the doors leading to his room. The fiery pierce of his eyes nearly broke her conviction, but the midwife dropped her gaze and pressed, "I would not dare keep you from your child or wife, but she has only just closed her eyes to sleep."

"Now?"

"Yes, my lord… It was a long labor, and then –then I believe she was waiting for you to arrive." His brow knit, for information processed more slowly with his nervous energy to block it, but steadily the words met their mark. "Let her rest," she continued for the health of her lady, but he gave no response that he ever heard her.

Her purpose done, she moved from Hector's path, and the Prince almost hesitated outside the doors as though waiting for someone else to impede him. The servants opened one door gently, and he slipped inside his quarters with eyes wide and muscles tense for whatever scene awaited him. He had been prepared to face any battle but was now nearly disarmed by the tranquility and calm of his quarters. The fire was lit in the center of the room and a few scattered candles elsewhere, but the black diaphanous drapes were drawn around the bed to distort her figure from his sight. His first steps were cautious and silent on the stone floor, hedging his way carefully to the edge and trailing along the wall which was the side he knew she kept in their bed. On the left of the bed, the drapes were pulled back, and finally he could see her lying on her side with the sheets draped around her waist and hands curled peacefully toward her pillow. Though she donned a clean sleeping gown, her hair was mussed, face completely void of attention, and cheeks pale; and he realized how exhausted she was to sleep so deeply. He chanced a closer look at his wife, stepping around the edge of the bed, but his advance was hindered by a small woven cradle lined with sheepskin and blankets and standing upon four wooden legs. He froze, so abruptly excited and terrified he couldn't bring himself to step closer and see over the edge –to see his child. His heart hammered in his chest with a power he hadn't known in years, as though he were facing the armies of Thessaly from long ago. A soft, quiet gurgle lifted into the air and cut through the tense binds holding Hector.

All at once he stepped forward, able to gaze down into the cradle and see the small child bundled in a white cloth. Only the face full from round rosy cheeks, punctuated by the softest button nose, lids heavy, fleshy lips pouted in a small 'o' was seen, and two impossibly tiny hands rose to cup its own cheeks in sleep as if the child had known its father would return to witness it and done so to frame its own tender features. A smile rose to his lips, uncontrolled and unhindered, as he stared at the tiny bundle. The warmth swelled in his chest to spread through his limbs until every piece of him was doused by that sensation of total serenity –of complete satisfaction. It spurred him to drop his hand into the cradle and let one finger trail over the plump cheek, expecting the image to dissolve before his very eyes. It was the fragment of a dream he had always held, and its manifestation seemed too impossible. No touch was softer as he feared his callused hands would scratch the precious skin or break those tiny, chubby fingers when he reached them next. In sleep, the infant stretched his hands as though stirred by Hector and reached to grasp to tip of the Prince's finger. The small hand barely circled it, and Hector exhaled a soft laugh that he had been accepted so readily when he felt undeserving of this gift from the gods. The same grip on his finger circled his heart, and no more need be done for he would fight the world and every god and goddess of the Pantheon to keep his child from harm. He carefully removed his finger as his other hand slipped into the cradle, and he sheltered the babe protectively in both hands, so large in comparison that they swallowed the child easily. Having had little experience with children and none with infants, he could only think to support the babe with one hand along its back, fingers cradling the head, with its bottom resting in his other hand. The cloth unwound before his eyes, even as he stretched a thumb to catch it, but his fingers and hands were not so nimble to accomplish the task. The layers fell with only his hands to impede them, and as they loosened the baby kicked in its sleep to shuck them off with shameless persistence. Hector smiled wider, and he watched mesmerized as the chubby folds appeared: a thigh interrupted by small rolls, a full arm, and the protruding belly. It was almost a game between them piecing together all the parts of his child, and with every limb revealed, it was as swiftly loved by Hector. Finally the child was bare, and the Prince's vision quaked, jaw trembling though he strained to still it. A son. Myrina had bore him a beautiful, content son.

The chill of the falling evening stirred the babe who woke with distressed stretching of legs and arms in all directions as though to kick away the veil of sleep along with his blanket. His eyes parted still heavy with sleep and blissfully trusting, but he was curious as he attempted to focus on the large figure before him. He blinked slowly, one curled fist shifted to touch his lips, and then the slate-gray gaze steadied on him, large round pools so disarming as they stared unabashedly. Hector ceased breathing, afraid to break that moment, the first time he looked into his child's eyes, but his son was insistent to speak first when a stray ray of light caught Hector's bronze chest plate. The eyes closed with brow creased, and the chubby limbs began their rounds again as a loud wail left his lips. Another followed, and Hector stared as terrified at his child and frozen with uncertainty. When the next one met his ears, its persistence broke him, and he brought his son closer to his face, pleading quietly, "No, no. Don't cry. Don't cry." The wails grew louder to be heard over his father's voice, but Hector soothed with the same appealing repetition of words. Within moments the babe quieted whether from Hector's pleas or his own boredom, content then to hush himself with two fingers slipped in his mouth, and the pale gray eyes seemed dizzy with the effort to take in all of Hector's features from this close distance. All at once, his foot landed on Hector's nose, and the Prince withheld a laugh that already his son was showing his stubbornness.

"And I had hoped you'd have your mother's temperament," he murmured gently with the same smile playing on his lips and tiny foot resting on his nose.

"I must be dreaming," she yawned languidly from their bed, and Hector released their son from before his face so that he could gaze at her, settled as comfortably as he had found her but with clear sea blue eyes gazing at him. A gentle smile curved her lips, loving and tender, and Hector unconsciously mirrored the expression until Myrina grimaced with the sudden ache of trying to sit up.

"No, Myrina, lay back," he commanded swiftly.

Her eyes snapped toward him with an abrupt piercing concentration as she mumbled, "If another person tells me that…"

"What?"

"No matter," she grumbled and managed to prop herself onto the piled pillows, and she rested her hands on her sore abdomen, all the while keeping her gaze on her husband and child. "Sit," she directed with an exhausted exhale and patted the space beside her hip, and he shifted around the cradle with his son still held in both palms and settled at her side. "You can hold him," she continued, not sparing the amused look, as she reached to arrange their son into the crook of Hector's arm and tuck the cloth around him once more. With his attention solely resting on his son, his burly body caving to hold him properly, a private warmth to his gaze, Hector had a natural ease and presence. "I knew you would make a great father," she commented, as content and pleased to watch the two together as a dream unfolding before her eyes.

The compliment made Hector consider his wife, chestnut eyes so sincere and vulnerable that her chest ached to sustain them, and he tentatively admitted, "He cried."

"He is a baby…" she assured him as her hand fell on his thigh. "He will cry for any reason he wishes." Her other hand covered a yawn though she couldn't hide it from Hector.

"You must rest. You're exhausted, Myrina." One palm found her cheek while he rubbed his thumb over her cheekbone. The touch had an instant effect, making her whole body sigh against the pillows, and she laid her hand upon his, holding it in place as she turned to kiss his palm and nuzzle her nose against it.

"I've missed you so much," she confessed softly before turning to consider the pair again, "and I would not miss this sight for the world, less sleep."

His brow knit suddenly while his thumb still stroked her cheek, and she searched his eyes to understand the guilt pooling in them. "I should have been here. I should never have left you."

She laughed lightly at his words, at the soldier so accessible to her this evening, and shook her head. "No matter how selfishly I wish it, you can't spend every moment with me."

"You called for me."

"Who else would I have called?" Another quiet gurgle and subdued coo came from their son as if he wished to contribute to the conversation, and both parents immediately turned their attentions to him.

Hector retracted his palm to meet his son's outstretched hands, grasping blindly and incessantly. They seemed content when they curled around his fingers and tried to overpower the large hands as though he were already as pugnacious as his father. It brought a candid smile to the Prince's face, and he wondered in a soft tone, "What will we call him?"

Myrina's lids were falling lower down her eyes, and she rested her elbow in her pillow and her cheek on her curled fist to remain awake a little longer and enjoy this significant moment with her family. "I'm not sure… I felt too superstitious to consider names before he was born."

Hector had suffered a similar bout of irrationality, but he did not mention it to his wife, too preoccupied staring at his son like he would reveal his own name in time. "Theron."

"Theron?" she repeated with a subtle frown. "It sounds like the name of a balding sheep herder."

"My uncle was named Theron," he clarified, and Myrina managed a guilty grin.

"I thought of Herodotus?"

"'Given to the hero,'" Hector translated and shook his head. "Too presumptuous and too long a name. He needs a strong, solid name that will be remembered and that will serve him even when he is a man."

"Cleon? It means 'glory.'"

"Yes, but you think it better than Theron?" he asked with an incredulous quirk to his brow.

"No… What do you suggest?"

"Doros. He is a 'gift.'"

Her lips pursed thoughtfully, and she exhaled the name, "Doros… I don't mind the name, but it doesn't seem the proper fit."

"I know," he agreed with a gentle shrugging of his shoulders and now turned to their son perplexed. "There are too many names, and I fear giving you the wrong one. Suppose we called him Lykos, and he turns out as deceiving and cunning as a wolf."

"You think his name will affect the qualities he possesses?"

"A name is powerful. It is the only thing you carry with you from the time your eyes open until they close. How can it not determine your character, if only in part?"

Myrina smiled gently at his wisdom and stubborn determination even through the sleep falling like a veil to soften her features, and he chuckled under his breath, now familiar with the private expressions he had come to know and love. "I suppose you're right. Hector, the 'defender,' and so you are… Then tell me. What quality should our son carry from birth 'til death?"

He tilted his head in reflection and tried his turn at lightly rocking the child in his arms in the way the sea rocked a ship. The pale gray eyes were interrupted by steady blinking, struggling to stay awake and meet his name, but Hector's motions were persuasive. Soon their son could fight it no longer and yielded with a loud murmured objection. "Strength."

She nodded and rendered, "Haemon."

"Haemon," he tried in a low voice as though whispering it to his child, and his leg kicked beneath the white blanket. Hector smiled proudly. No better sign could be given.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Hello lovelies! And the first son is born :D So fun to write this... To be honest, strength does not translate to Haemon, but that's the benefit of being an author right? haha So to those of you who caught on, clearly Myrina did have a miscarriage. I really was not trying to make it a huge plot point, but I just wanted to be more realistic. I mean Andromache and Hector only have one infant son at the time of his death (mid-30s), so you have to assume something about birthrate and prenatal care and whatnot. In any case, it brought them closer together, I imagine it was only maybe two months into her pregnancy when it happened so it wasn't as gruesome, and now they have their own child and will have more! The next chapter will have Paris and Helen meet...

Thanks to Syrena Swift, AmyLNelson, klandgraf2007, and xandra37 for the sweet reviews! :)

Syrena: Hey gorgeous! I'm so glad you enjoyed the chapter :D I know I didn't delve too deeply into Cassandra's past in the story, but I figured it was a well known myth. But you've brought up a good point that I've alluded to her quite a bit, so maybe in the upcoming chapters I'll have the chance to give her more of a voice. The only problem of course is that no one believes anything she says haha "Commanding" type of guy! Rawr! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well xoxo

Amy: Hey! I'm glad you liked the chapter :) I had to give Myrina a chance to see Hector fight, and of course needed him to build his cred for the future. I have way too much fun with fight scenes, and I didn't want to make the victory too easy. I'm trying to update regularly before I get slammed with work again! Hope you liked this one too :D

klandgraf: Aww you're so sweet giving me your response to both chapters! I always appreciate the feedback :) You're so funny too to point out that you wanted Isidora to marry Diokles! It was in the back of my head when I first started the story, but apparently it didn't pan out :( I hope you enjoyed this chapter ;)

xandra: I'm happy you liked the chapter! I know Priam wasn't as douchey as usual, but it's all part of the evolution of his character. I figure as he gets older, as Hector assumes more control of the country, etc, Priam will simmer down and turn into that amazing ruler and father we all love :) The last chapter was one small step for him, but we'll get there! I'll try to get more interactions between the family because it is fun to give that insight :) I hope you enjoyed this one xoxo


	43. Reach for Dry Land

Chapter 42  
"Reach for Dry Land"

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Recommended Songs: "Lebanese Blonde" – Thievery Corporation & "White Blank Page" – Mumford & Sons

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_"A woman who is generous with her money is to be praised; not so, if she is generous with her person."_ — Quintilian

**Three months** after the birth of their first son, the day was named for the good of Troy's nation, the will of a new alliance, and the prospect of peace with Greece, but Haemon had little respect for such things. He welcomed the break of dawn with his typical cries, and both parents stirred from their bed in slow, weary movements. Hector's arm circled her waist tighter as he woke with his muscles contracting to bear him the strength to sit, but she squeezed his hand gently.

"Go back to bed," she encouraged as she sat up and slipped toward the cradle. "You need your rest." Hector was propped up on his elbow by this time and peering through one eye since the light felt too bright to allow both, and Myrina laughed to herself to see him so disoriented and disheveled though she undoubtedly looked no better. Such was the burden of having an infant son who was always hungry to feed his growth spurt. Already he was heavy in her arms as she drew him from his cradle and gently bounced him while he rooted at her sleeping robe. "Sleep," she commanded her husband once more, and he exhaled loudly in defeat and slid down to the bed yet again without further prodding. She moved out toward their balcony where a small chair had been brought to the far end near the potted flowers for her to sit on such occasions. She settled onto the cushion and moved aside her sleeping gown to fall off her shoulder, and Haemon latched on with such fervor that Myrina nearly pulled him away. Instead, she readjusted him in her arms and shook her head with a smile pulling at her lips.

"To think you had no interest in eating once, and now I fear you'll feed until you make yourself ill," she murmured and drew a finger over the dark chestnut hair already cropping on his round head. His cheeks twitched with every soft suckling sound, and his eyes now a dark blue gazed up at his mother where she was granted his undivided attention. Royalty kept wet nurses for this purpose, but she thought that odd, to allow anyone else this experience with her son. There was no other time he was so solely concentrated, and she could gaze into the eyes darkening each day, watch her son grow strong, and feel the bond strengthen between them. She and Hector had a quiet gamble on what color his eyes would become, and she hoped they would be deep and rich like his father's though Hector hoped they would be blue as hers were. They were both selfish and selfless to want to see a part of the one they loved in their child.

"Your father sails today to Sparta," she continued gently and let her gaze flicker over the balcony to the sea stretched out toward the horizon. Until weeks ago, she hadn't known where Sparta was located or that the King's name was Menelaus, but each day brought a new lesson to be learned from her husband and his position. "It is a country in Greece. Perhaps one day you will see it when you're much older and when I can find the will to release you for so long." She smiled and returned her attention to her son who suckled without pause, listening with his blue eyes on her alone. "You shouldn't cry. He would never admit it, but it would make him very sad and guilty. Be as your name demands –strong… And be sweet as I've known you to be." Her fingers stroked his cheek, feeling his fleshy skin quiver with his feeding, and she confided in a whisper, "He doesn't wish to leave you. He worries he will leave on a ship and say goodbye to his son, but when he returns, that you'll be a man. You grow so swiftly already… Most men look toward the day their son will hold a sword and meet their responsibilities and bring them honor, but he enjoys you this way, I think. How can't he?" His feeding waned off, and she waited patiently to see if he were finished. He persisted restlessly, and she gently shifted him to her other breast where he rooted again and sucked with renewed vigor.

"He doesn't trust your Uncle Paris to attend this matter alone," she continued in the same secretive tone. "Sparta is a very powerful nation and has not been merciful toward Troy. Negotiations of peace and a possible alliance could encourage other Greek nations to follow in their path. Imagine if you were to grow in a world where war was not so prevalent. Your father is not so optimistic –a realist truthfully. I hope that you grow in a time of peace, with the chance to run and be mischievous and play. I know how Hector's responsibilities have molded him, and he is the bravest, wisest man I have ever met… but I hope you will have a better chance at a childhood. I want you to love your father as I love him, or more if you can bear it, and he will love you and protect you and teach you. The gods have blessed you, my beautiful son, to have such a man to raise you. I pray you aspire to be all that he is, and Troy will be great because of you."

Myrina smiled again, content with her lesson for the day, though she was sure she would repeat her words again when Haemon was older and could understand the power of what she was asking. He would be her pupil as he grew: grasp her hands to steady him as he took his first steps, watch her mouth to unravel the mystery of speech, and learn from her actions. Then he would come of age, and she would pass him to the intelligence of royal tutors. During these quiet morning hours with the sun yawning on the horizon, she pictured Hector and their son standing side by side, and the image gave her an overwhelming sensation of peace and pride. 'One day,' she thought to herself and rocked Haemon in her arms until his blue eyes closed and he was heavy with sleep.

She returned him to his cradle and slipped past the drawn black drapes of their bed to discover her husband buried beneath the oppression of sleep. A more impish smile hid in the corners of her lips, and she cautiously stalked toward him on hands and knees to bend across his naked back and draw a line of soft kisses over his shoulder blade. He was motionless even as her curls fell to caress his skin, and she turned her attention to his shoulder and neck, taking her time to find his jaw and the corner of his mouth. The swift catch of his arm around her to draw her beneath him nearly made her cry out in surprise, but she was conscious enough of their son not to reveal that alarm. His beard pricked her cheek as he nestled his face into the crook of her neck and allowed his body to relax over her. Unconsciously her legs parted to fit him between, and her arms circled his broad shoulders, stroking the thick curls from his face. The warm weight of his body fell perfectly over her, and she welcomed the way he both shielded her and crushed her into the soft padding of their mattress.

"Must you go?" she murmured into his ear, turning her head to feel the bristle of his beard on her cheek, and her lips found the tender skin beneath his ear and helped wake him this morning.

"It is my duty," he grumbled deep in his throat and released his hand to her knee, drawing the callused palm up her bare thigh and to her hip. "But continue this, and I'll swiftly reconsider."

"You're not married to your duty," she pressed in the same low voice. "It does not warm your bed or-" she caught his earlobe between her teeth to nibble softly on it while lightly drawing her nails down the length of his back. She felt his muscles shuddered abruptly and smiled in satisfaction.

"Ask anything of me, and I will consent," he revealed, and she laughed softly to hear the hungry edge of his tone.

"Don't tempt me with false promises, my love." He adjusted his weight into his forearms where he could see her face and the heat of her eyes swiftly cooling in a gust of melancholy. Her gaze flickered away as if often did when she wished to hide her true feelings, knowing how easily she could betray herself. "We haven't been apart for so long since…" His lips caught the words before they could spill from her mouth, smothering them with the moist heat, the heavy burden. He was unavoidable, and the words disintegrated like her sleeping robes melted from her body. Soon she forgot that she was ever sad or that he would ever leave her.

—

"His pacing has the men restless."

Hector smirked humorlessly and nudged the rope rolled near his feet as he agreed, "Another day, and I'll tie him to the mast myself."

Lysander was the one to laugh this time where he stood near his prince, and he watched Paris' nervous patrol up and down the length of their vessel. The young Trojan had never left the marble walls nor been confined to so small a territory, and his obvious anxiety after only a week at sea propelled his feet. Were the gods forgiving and seas calm, they would see Sparta's shores within the month, but judging by the annoyance on every man's face, Hector doubted tongues would remain still much longer. Each man adjusted to sea life differently: the sickness, the weight of the sun, the infinite expanse of blue comparable only to the compact space on the deck. Hector was not immune to these discomforts, but he was a better master of his emotions than his younger brother. Rather than pacing, he had dedicated himself to the task of carving. It was a rite of passage among soldiers, their talents emblematic of the time they spent abroad, and he recalled when he was a child, how his own father would return from trips and adorn him with wooden horses, bears, and once even an ivory elephant from Ethiopia. Already he found his impatience a hindrance and exhaled hotly through his nose when he cut too large a piece.

Abandoning his work for the moment, he replaced his dagger and decided, "I'll speak with him."

Paris nearly ran into his brother before surfacing from the depths of his thoughts, and he looked perplexed at his older sibling's intervention. Hector tilted his head firmly, and Paris followed him into the belly of the ship where Hector slipped the chiseled wood among his things.

"Is something wrong, brother?"

"Your nervous feet. You'll drive every man on this boat mad."

"What am I expected to do?" Paris exhaled in a tone that was more grumbling than sincere. "Do you realize how little space we must share with some forty other men? I have the need to stretch my legs and exert myself. I'll go mad before any other. How can you sit or stand for hours on the deck without throwing yourself into the sea?"

Hector smiled, decidedly amused by his brother's antics today, and admitted, "We all are restless, Paris, but most deckhands don't have the time to pace. If you're truly so miserable, I'll put you to work beside them."

He scoffed at the notion and countered, "You do not labor with them."

"On my first journey across the Sea, I did."

"You are their Crown Prince!"

"I found my sanity outweighed my pride. Now I've learned to exercise my thoughts and keep my hands busy."

"How am I to do that?" Paris' vacant expression remained, hollow of thought or consciousness, and Hector gripped his shoulder and directed him toward a bucket in one corner.

"Scrub the floors for a start."

"Hector!" Paris stuttered in alarm as the eldest Prince alighted the steps toward the deck once more. "You can't treat me like a servant!"

The dull slam as the hatch fell behind him met Paris' ears, leaving him acutely and irritably aware of who gave orders on the vessel.

—

The skyline of Sparta reflected its ruler, a man seduced by opulence and pedigree and ravenous for the sport of war. The natural terrain provided ravines and rocky walls for protection while the lavish riches they plundered during battle hid the numerous crimes of its kinsmen. Hector knew well the stories of Greek conquest, particularly shared between brothers Menelaus and Agamemnon, their greed comparable only to their tempers, and he had already warned Paris to hold his tongue to the extent he was capable. They docked along a sole pontoon and assigned guards to keep watch of the boat while royal Spartan diplomats welcomed and escorted them up the hills toward the palace. For the accretion of wealth displayed proudly along the walls and colonnades, the unpolished countrymen roamed the streets with steady eyes capable of stabbing their neighbor's back. Sparta stood sentry at the southern point of Greece, and appropriately, it was a country of warriors.

The stonewalls of the palace dripped with bronze, gold, and rich fabrics, all burnt colors sinking into the sunset behind it. Basins roared with open fires, torches adorned their path, and soon the Trojan company arrived in the throne hall where Menelaus waited in his grand seat. The black curls graying at his temples spilled across the magnificent vermillion and gold robes, a heavy chain hung from his neck with the weight of a thick obsidian slice, and his eyes shifted beneath heavy brows as they took in the group of men pooling before him. Only after they had bowed their heads in respect did he rise to his feet with a deceivingly amiable smile and descend the short stairs.

"Prince Hector," he distinguished immediately as though identifying an old war accomplice, and the Prince managed a careful smile of his own. "Aeolus gifted you his steeds for the haste you've reached my kingdom."

"The winds were favorable and the waters untroubled," Hector agreed. "It seems we've arrived in advance of our messengers."

"We are instilled with the speed of soldiers, but common men will linger about their work. Our haste prepares us for all contingencies!" His attention strayed to Paris' face, and his features twitched curiously.

"My Lord Menelaus, my brother Paris has accompanied me this journey."

Menelaus grinned even broader and decided, "I'm pleased with the significance King Priam has given our alliance to send two of his many sons."

"Peace may be more profitable for our nations, but it is a difficult matter to grasp and settle among men. We are all gathered to witness its success."

"A king must arrange for all outcomes. It is only wise to teach his sons the tools of supremacy."

Hector considered the King to discern his true feelings but couldn't read the expression he donned. "Paris has come of goodwill –to listen," he revealed, more to take the attention from his sibling and to remind Paris of his place.

"A prudent choice," he agreed with a firm nod before clapping both men on the shoulders. "My brothers of Troy let us dine together and tell me of matters in your country. I'll wish to know everything of my allies."

The Trojans were promised their separate pavilion in the palace while Menelaus and his subordinates gathered them in the dining hall. Servants were still scurrying to arrange tables enough to seat the men who had arrived ahead of schedule, and Hector hoped their punctuality had not insulted their hosts. Menelaus for the rumored depravity of his character was surprisingly affable to the extent that Hector grew suspicious. The heavy stench of alcohol on his breath could explain in part his grand gestures and excessive speech, but his eyes housed an acute awareness that betrayed his exaggeration. Too often did Hector notice the middle-aged man's gaze settle on Paris until he considered sending his younger sibling to their quarters to avoid any inexplicable confrontation. Menelaus' unceasing tongue and a recent addition made that impossible. Among those gathered in the hall, only one woman punctuated their ranks, sweeping into the space as men rushed from her path. The purposeful aversion of eyes spoke of Menelaus' jealousy –and her beauty.

"My Queen finds reason to join our table." The biting sarcasm of his tone was impossible to miss, but the woman didn't flinch or bow. "Princes Hector and Paris, I present my wife and Queen of Sparta, Helen." To these men did her gaze drop briefly, but those eyes as rich as Egyptian blue soon swept across them. Golden curls were pinned from her face to reveal the fluid curves of her cheekbones, lips, and brow. No expression was more feminine or treacherous: the coy angle of her chin, sharp concentration of her eyes, and playful smile. Hector's jaw stiffened only as he felt his brother's presence grow at his side. When her attention slid to the young Trojan, one pale eyebrow arched, and Paris' fate was sealed.

"I greatly respect your reputation, Prince," Menelaus continued as they took their seats. "They say you beat back the Assyrians like dogs from your gates."

"They were over zealous in their approach, but our armies did not clash. The King wished to settle our dispute in the way of our forefathers."

"One soldier against another," Menelaus recalled with pleasure. "A tactic I've much examined, but it is difficult to place the burden of a country on one man's shoulders no matter the legend of his skills."

"We were fortunate," Hector conceded.

"The gods favor the strong, so that two soldiers Spartan and Trojan might meet in peace rather than on a battlefield."

"Our ancestors have too often quarreled and spilled blood."

"Let us honor them for the legacy they've given our countries."

"And for the opportunity of our alliance."

Menelaus laughed heartily and decreed in an ardent fervor, "Leave the wolves to hunger while we feast. Have each man fill his cup and have the women warm our beds. For the gods' goodwill gives us friends in place of enemies. We raise our cups and not our blades… For Sparta!" The soldiers gathered called out in praise of their beloved country, riled by their King's impromptu speech, and Menelaus extended his cup toward Hector and waited for the men to quiet before he added, "And for Troy!"

The men around them exclaimed, a burst of tumult within the walls, but a far more powerful spark caught as two gazes locked. The jolt was unavoidable, and Hector bent near his brother and hissed sharply, "Keep your eyes on your plate!" He was all the more infuriated when a smile curled Paris' lips, defiantly staring at the Queen seconds longer.

The only man not to notice was the King himself who was preoccupied toasting with his men and eyeing the exotic dancers who rushed in to entertain their guests. Music filled the hall, the bronze medals adorning the woman clinked with every teasing circle of their hips, wine overflowed, and so the celebration of the Trojans' arrival continued deep into the night. Unlike those surrounding him, Hector remained unforgivingly sober, attune to every flirtatious glance, and growing further enraged like each impure thought were a disgrace to his country. On that eve, he swore to keep these forces from colliding so long as he lived.

—

Weeks later, the Trojans turned from Sparta with supplies restocked, gifts of camaraderie, and rested minds. Negotiations for a peace treaty encountered few obstacles, and King Menelaus seemed to enjoy the company of the Trojan princes, Hector primarily for their incessant discussions of battle and politics. For these conversations, Paris was ill-suited with the wandering mind of dreamer and eloquence of a poet. His charms were better used in wooing a married woman, and Hector routinely considered the benefits of a good lashing as he watched his younger brother slip away during the night. No amount of threats would make Paris stray for this lover of women had spotted the unimaginable: the fantastical beauty that would have turned Aphrodite torrent in rage and that consequently enamored every man who looked upon her –almost. Beyond the guise of a goddess, the woman was mortal, haughty, and above all else, irreconcilably and momentously foolish for allowing an eighteen-year-old, who was still very much a boy, to woo her. Perhaps the gods had turned a blind eye in favor of Sparta and Troy's union. Hector guarded his brother when he could and looked away otherwise. Forcing his ignorance violated his moral code, but his love for his brother could not allow him to occasion his death, not before his own.

Hector inhaled the crisp air, basked in the sun's warmth on his skin, and welcomed the breeze for all were signs that they would return home and that his mission in Sparta was accomplished. No longer did the burden of his brother's adultery weight upon his shoulders, and he dutifully stood at the bow of the ship and whittled the wood down to the shape he desired. Slowly, the animal began to emerge one leg at a time, and as he perfected the arch of the tail, he felt his brother step near his side.

"Don't tell me you're bored already," he assumed and chuckled beneath his breath.

"For Haemon," Paris realized in a distant tone.

"Yes. It will be a lion…" He adjusted his grip on the carving to a more forgiving angle and admitted, "The gods willing." Paris grew quiet long enough to gain Hector's attention, and the elder Trojan turned toward his brother with a smirk still playing on his lips, only to met a surprisingly stern frown. His own banter melted away, and he recognized, "That last time you looked so solemn, Paris, you were ten, and you had just stolen father's horse."

Paris swallowed thickly, and one hand gripped the edge of the ship as though to prepare himself for a torrent rushing their way. Unconsciously, a deep scowl overtook Hector's features, and he searched his brother's face for the cause of his behavior. At last, he choked out softly, "Do you love me brother? Would you protect me from any enemy?"

His chestnut eyes steadied on his younger sibling, and he saw the young, terrified boy who had come to him long ago staring back.

"What have you done?"

—

The golden bracelets stacking her wrists betrayed the nervous fidgeting of her hands. In the distance, she could hear the calls of their people lifted upon the breeze, the soldier's drums beat out their approach, and the court chattered anxiously in preparation for the Princes' return. All their sisters and brothers, courtiers, councilors, generals, and more were gathered beneath the awning at the peak of the stairs leading toward the palace.

"Nervous?" the cool voice brushed near her ear, and Myrina flinched uncontrollably as he startled her from her thoughts.

She met those blue eyes mischievously alight now and brushed past his handsome features to those of Creusa, his new wife. "They'll be happy you've come," she told Creusa and smiled warmly.

"I'm glad to have occasion to return," she admitted though Aeneas feigned insult.

"Is Dardania so far a journey?" the Prince scoffed.

"When one has matters to attend, yes," she teased gently, her dark eyes warm as they gazed at her husband. "I've missed my nephew. Already he grows each day, but he is as handsome as I left him."

"I'm pleased you think so. He's the most beautiful babe I've ever set eyes on." Myrina grinned candidly at her sister-in-law. "But I suppose I'm biased."

"Creusa!" Phegea called as she entered the space, and the woman rushed to see her little sister.

In her wake, Myrina appraised Aeneas' lingering presence and decided, "Hector will be pleased you've spared him the trip."

"Will you hate me forever, Myrina?" he inquired with a sincere tone despite the ever-present smile on his lips.

"You make it too easy."

"I am nothing to you if not a series of insults. Are you upset by my marriage?"

"Yes."

"Creusa is a beautiful, intelligent, capable woman with a lengthy pedigree. A proper match for me. I assumed you –and Hector– would be proud."

"Then why did you wait for him to sail across the sea to marry her? You rushed the engagement with such haste… Do you realize the rumors you caused?"

"My talents do not include gossip. I leave that to my sisters."

"You know what I mean," she snapped quickly.

Aeneas smirked, turning the power of his gaze on Myrina who easily sustained it. "The gossip does not insult you. What then upsets you?" His eyes shimmered omnisciently as they often did. "My choice of a bride?"

Her lips twitched before she revealed, "Yes. You cannot abandon your tricks. You chose one of Hector's sisters for a reason."

"What reason is that?" Her potent look suggested all her suspicions without a single word falling from her lips, but Aeneas never received the chance to verify or refute such scrutiny for the group suddenly quiet as Priam shifted from the awning out to the top of the stairs to meet his sons.

Myrina's nervous fidgeting resumed, and Aeneas disappeared to find his wife. Moments later Priam returned to their company with Hector trailing behind, and applause broke out to welcome the Princes home. Myrina, for one, surrendered to a more intimate impulse and rushed into her husband's arms, burying her face in the overwhelming scent of him now laced with the salty sea air. Her arms tightened around him, a hand embedded in his curls, and she thought she might hold him until they pried her arms away; but her desire to see his face overcame her. Soon they parted to search out any changes in the other, but she was pleased to see him exactly as she recalled.

"Three months," she began, "and I feel that it's a been years." Despite the obvious contentment on his face, she registered the dark nature of his eyes combined with his still tonge. "What is it?"

Hector stepped aside, opening up her view as though he had been impulsively shielding her from it, and the breath-taking beauty was revealed on Paris' arm and brushing among the Trojan ranks as though she had always belonged. The white of her dress suggested something impossible, and unconsciously Myrina's hand gripped Hector's arm with her intuition sending chill warnings.

"Who is that?"

"Helen… Menelaus' wife."

* * *

**Author's Note**: Hello lovelies! I hope everyone is enjoying the winter weather :) I'd like to quickly point out that Hector and Aeneas are not truly cousins -well, they are third cousins (or something like that). I just wanted to point this out because Aeneas married Creusa, and I didn't want people to think they were too close. Not that that would be so bizarre during this time period haha I realize this chapter was a bit short, but I only needed to set the stage for the next one!

Thank you as always to klandgraf2007, xandra37, AmyLNelson, and Syrena Swift for the sweet reviews! :)

klandgraf: Paris and Helen has met, done the dirty, and returned to Troy to everyone's dismay. I know I didn't give you much to chew on as far as they're concerned, but hopefully in the coming chapters I'll unravel their relationship. Primarily I wanted give a sense of the impulsive, childish way they court each other. Paris is 18 and acts like a boy while Helen is quite a bit older like mid to late 20s. So I think it adds an interesting dynamic and stirs some questions :) I hope you enjoyed this chapter! xoxo

xandra: You're too sweet! I'm glad you liked that chapter, and we'll have more babies to come of course. Andromache and Hector only had Astyanax, but I'll give Myrina and him more of a chance to be a family. I'm actually excited about a scene I have in mind with Hector and Haemon that I think everyone will like :D Thank you for the review, and I hope you enjoyed this one! xx

Amy: Thanks doll! Hope you liked this one as well :D

Syrena: YES! I had a dream last night that I met Adam Levine and asked to touch his six-pack, and I think it's the universe's way of telling me this union of Hector nerds will be glorious! You're seriously too sweet. Thank you for the kind words, and you're awesome! haha I hope you enjoyed this chapter, gorgeous xoxo


	44. Before It Breaks

Chapter 43  
"Before It Breaks"

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Recommended Songs: "Song for November" – Chris Pureka & "Sail" – AWOLNATION

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"Give her to me!" the King's voice boomed through the hall in a rush of rage that swelled on his red face. So swiftly did negotiations dissolve even under the tender kindling between Priam, Odysseus, and Hector. Menelaus would be satisfied by nothing less than Helen's return and Paris' head on a silver platter –preferably dismembered by the Spartan King himself.

"Shame is paid in gold for an unjust," Odysseus agreed, unable to clean his face of the permanent dismal look. "No matter our silver tongues, our alliances, our promises… insult cannot be negotiated. Return what was stolen from my lord, or have rumors of Priam's wisdom and just hand been false testimony?"

"My father's judgment can neither predict nor bridle the indiscretions of your wife," Hector snapped sharply for the inherent insult Odysseus swept before them.

"I welcomed you into my home, fed you, sheltered you, shared with you, and you consider this betrayal of my doing!" Menelaus shook with the effort not to stand from his seat and seek out his wife and her seducer. "You know where the fault lies, Prince Hector! I see it on your face!"

His brow remained knit, chestnut eyes torrent with this mess, but he squared his shoulders more stiffly as testament of his unyielding resolve. "I regret what has passed between us," he admitted solemnly, "but my brother lacks the cunning or mean spirit to achieve this slander."

"He stole my wife from my bedchambers!"

"Your wife left willingly."

The blood boiled beneath Menelaus' skin for all to see, and Priam's grip on his throne nearly shattered the stone arms. Though an outburst lay on the horizon, Menelaus abruptly sobered and wondered in a chilly tone, "How long did it take, Prince? For you to learn of this affair? How long did you smile in my face and then laugh at my back? Honor…" He stood in a bustle of heavy fabrics and spit on the throne floor. "You know nothing of it! You do not deserve a crown!"

Hector jerked to his feet as well with his own presence expanding to take the Spartan king. "Do not condemn me for your shame!"

"Enough!" Priam silenced promptly, and all men gathered stilled with thick unease settling between them. "I will not be insulted in my own home! Watch your tongue, Spartan, for a wise king would cut out such lies… You've come to retrieve what was lost, but I will not return a woman who sought harbor voluntarily in my lands. You will not accept my offers of amends, and you have made further negotiations impossible. We are finished, Kings of Sparta and Ithaca. Take whatever provisions you need for the journey, and leave my lands."

Outside the hall conversation could be heard as clearly as day, but it was a curse to realize the unraveling of alliance with Sparta and further abuse shared between the two countries. Myrina's head bowed under the weight Helen's presence had burdened all Trojans, but unlike her husband who could not renounce his brother or her father-in-law who would not deny Paris' happiness, Myrina had no difficulty turning on her heels and making haste for Paris' quarters. She would provide the tongue for all their frustrations and save her family from this disgrace so long as the gods smiled on Troy this day. Soon she was facing the woman whose beauty was her poison, hiding as usual within Paris' atrium where gossips leered at her back and no sisters or friends offered a hand. By the brusque flicker of joy across Helen's face, Myrina knew she was the only one to visit the stolen queen. It was pitiful to see the stark loneliness and alienation that even Helen's looks couldn't abate. However, realizing the solemnity of Myrina's features, Helen quickly realized her purpose.

"You bring news of my departure," she assumed with a voice as crystalline and smooth as falling rain. Her face fell, even elegant in sorrow, like her body bending concave to restrain a sob.

"No," Myrina assured her and swallowed thickly as if she could push her sympathy down deep into her belly where it wouldn't spoil her conviction. "They protect you still." Helen straightened once more in a gasp of relief and touched her fingers to lips, but she couldn't draw the proper words to appease Myrina's disapproval. Silence hung among them for painful minutes until the Princess pressed, "They love Paris as everyone who encounters Paris loves him. He has a gentle way and a kind soul, but never has he possessed the shrewd capacity necessary of his position. Hector has sheltered him from harm his entire life. He has taken lashings in Paris' place… He would never forbid his happiness or condemn him to death, and his hands are bound by his loyalty and his affection." For her sober exterior, her sea blue eyes were alight with passion, and Helen gazed entranced and terrified of such a look. "I am not so obliged. Men may fall captive to your beauty, but I am immune. Instead I see the frightened, foolish woman you are, and your poor decisions have condemned the very strangers who now harbor you. I can't sit aside silently and allow this to continue any longer. You must return to your husband, Helen. You must end this childish game!"

"I would welcome death before his company," Helen whispered as though fearful to speak in opposition of the woman standing before her. With the words, her courage gathered tacitly, and she continued, "I was promised to Menelaus when I was a girl still –no more than sixteen. He is a warrior. He does not understand love, or what it means to be gentle in touch or tone. Every day that I met the sun at his side, I prayed for eternal darkness. I was drowning beside him! I couldn't breathe or speak or feel any longer… I thought I was lost in the sea and forsaken and abandoned until I met Paris." Her hands gripped her chest as though brandishing her heart for Myrina to witness. "I forgot that dizziness and intoxication –that rush of excitement and optimism. I kissed the day for the chance to see it shine on his face, and I begged him to save me… If he had left me, I would not have survived. I would have taken my life for seeing another dawn without the promise of his company is a fate worse than death. Rip out my eyes! Tear out my heart! I can't go back. I'll never return. Let Paris cast me aside first, and his words will be the dagger in my breast."

Her blue eyes shimmered with the onslaught of tears, and Myrina saw a woman as victim to love as Paris. Both irrational and foolish and hopeless, and now tangled in each other's web. Her sympathy remained in a constant sway, but Myrina couldn't pretend Helen's emphatic speech was adequate for her betrayal. "For your years and your beauty and your standing, you know so little… I have had love ripped from my fingers when I was the same age as you on your wedding day. I have known intimately the excruciating torment of witnessing dawn and hoping for death, and I have understood the responsibility and curse of loving someone enough to release them. You act like a child with your selfishness. You speak of pain and sorrow, but you have damned my husband and my family to gruesome insult –only to spare yourself injury! Do not look to me for sympathy when you have not even considered the cost of your vanity."

"Myrina," Paris' voice called from behind her, and she shifted to face her brother-in-law. His handsome features contorted in confusion, darting from Helen's tear-stained face to Myrina's stoic expression, and he pressed, "What has happened? What have you said?"

"The truth," she answered stiffly. "You know what you have done is wrong, Paris. You must correct it –both of you."

"It is not your place to command me," he hissed, turning toward his sister-in-law as if she had betrayed him. "How can you enter my chambers and insult my wife!"

"You steal a woman and adorn her in white, but that does not make her your wife."

"Give a fisherman's daughter a crown, and that does not make a princess," he spat with the fury of a wounded toddler. He grasped his weapon too eagerly, digging in blindly without considering the effect of his blow.

Her brow relaxed in disappointment more than hurt, but Paris was too stupefied by his own rage to retreat. It was impossible to ignore the caustic attempt, and she carefully decided, "No matter your words or actions, I love you as my brother… but I will always love Hector more. So will you. Do not spit in his face so that you can have your trophy. Make your father and brother proud."

Her delicate words visibly affected the Prince who now struggled to still his quaking features and nervous shivering. "Eternally I have failed my father and brother's expectations. I have never been the man they wished of me, but I will not apologize this time… Your regret is no greater than theirs. Leave."

Her tongue caught for lack of an adequate response, and Paris read the beat in their conversation for what it was: a woman baffled by his mindless, stubborn insistence. He turned from her, and Myrina reluctantly retreated to her own quarters where Hector stood to greet her.

"You spoke with him," he predicted before she could part her lips.

"Yes."

"A popular decision this day."

"Yet I was the only one to see him."

Hector sat once more and exhaled heavily with remorse as he watched his wife quietly slip off her bracelets and earrings. "What was said?"

She stilled and ran her fingers along the delicate gold she had once only dreamt of. The thought reminded her of Paris' jab at her expense, and she decided, "Words that cannot be taken back."

"If you were harsh with him, he was deserving of reprimand."

"You're so certain."

"You would not be cruel without reason."

She gathered her hair from her neck if only to busy her hands and began pinning the curls away, but even such a simple task couldn't fill the silence of her thoughts. Finally she turned to Hector and revealed, "I fear nothing can be done. I thought I understood why they did this… but they are so blinded by each other –like we were."

"I don't think we were blind. We saw too clearly. If I had been as stupid and reckless as Paris, I would have had you long ago, and I would have paid a hefty price."

"I feel responsible," she murmured with her head bowed.

"Paris wouldn't listen to Zeus himself were he to descend from Olympus and command Helen returned to Menelaus."

"No –not for this conversation." She approached him slowly while her hands fidgeted before her, and she slipped into the seat beside her husband. "Before you left for Sparta, Paris came to me with his usual nonsense." She smiled humorlessly and considered her twined fingers. "Somehow our conversation shifted… He hinted at another mistress, and I couldn't hold my tongue. I told him he shouldn't squander his time on such trivial activities –that it would make you happy to see him mature and act as he should. I think he mistook me to mean he should commit to someone. I never meant to encourage this."

Hector's hand engulfed her nervous fingers and squeezed her hands reassuringly. "Paris often surprises me with his indiscretion, but he is more keen than he pretends. You can't feel responsible for his choices. He knew the consequences, and he chose his fate."

No sooner had the words fallen from Hector's lips did Paris sweep into their chambers in a torrent of impulsive fury. His doe eyes narrowed as they landed on Myrina, and he accused, "How could you speak to her so brutally? I never recognized the dagger that is your tongue, lashing at my wife behind my back!"

A deep scowl took over Hector's features as he rose to meet his sibling in the center of their quarters where Paris paced restlessly before the fire pit. "Restrain your temper, Paris!"

"Control your wife, brother!"

"Paris," Myrina attempted to intercept in a cool tone, "I did not wish to attack Helen. I spoke truthfully-"

"You called her selfish and childish among many names!"

"Titles fitting of your behavior," Hector charged.

"You would turn your back on me as well?"

The accusation garnered Paris a sharp look from his brother who struggled with clenched fists to maintain his stance. "I have protected my family! Where is your allegiance, Paris? Whom do you serve? Your only concern is yourself, you selfish, arrogant bastard!"

"It's easy for you, brother, to look on me and judge me, but not all of us are destined to the happy marriage you have. I love Helen."

"You know nothing about love! Don't complain to me that the woman you've set your eye on has a husband –that you stole her from him behind my very back!"

"He was cruel to her, brother-"

"Many men are cruel to their wives, but only a true fool would take the path you have. You think you've saved her? You've condemned a nation!"

"Did you not wish to do the same for Myrina? Did you not offer your crown in exchange for her hand?"

"Don't compare your selfish game to my marriage," he warned darkly, eyes flashing in a threat, but Paris knew his brother's weakness well.

"You jeopardized Troy's alliance for her. You almost lost your crown for her."

"You dare look upon me and gloat, Paris!" he bellowed angrily, and Myrina flinched to hear that tone from him. Hector caught Paris by the scruff of his robes, nearly pulling the young man from his feet, and swore, "Test my temper, and I will let Menelaus deal with you –and your mistress."

"You wish my death, ask it of me," he countered in a quivering tone. "I will face Menelaus, his men, their swords… Ask it of me." The rattled features gave his words less a challenge than a plea as though he were admitting that he did not have the strength to do it himself; he needed Hector's command. The elder prince's jaw clenched to hold the words at bay for all the love he held his brother, he would condemn one man to save their people from any retribution. As a man soon to be king, he should be able to make such a call, but those eyes were large and doe like, as harmless and naïve and innocent as when Paris was a child. Hector had spent his life protecting his family. He couldn't turn his back on his brother now –no matter the circumstances. His features subtly quaked with the sincerity of how he considered this train of action, and by contrast, Paris' eyes widened, truly believing Hector would seal his fate. All at once, he released his brother's robes and pushed him away roughly.

"Leave my sight, or by the gods, I will hand you over myself." Paris stumbled blindly backward but faced for the first time the exhausted disappointment lingering in Hector's features. His own head bowed, but he fled rather than continue this losing fight. The silence lingering the wake of their outburst seemed impenetrable, but Myrina shifted forward to touch Hector's arm.

"Paris does not think before he acts, less speaks," she soothed gently.

"You forgive his insult to you –to _us_, so swiftly?"

"He's afraid, Hector."

"He should be. I should have turned the ship around, tied him to the mast, and sent Helen back to her husband."

"But you didn't…"

"I am an ass for it. My country, my people, my soldiers will suffer for my weakness… Father chose unwisely picking me as his successor. I can't sacrifice my brother's happiness for the better of my country."

"You love your brother."

"I love Troy."

"Your compassion is not your weakness, my Prince." Her palms cradled his cheeks, forcing him to face her sincerity as she assured him, "A man cannot rule with only his mind and not his heart. Your strength is the love you bear your family and your country. It is why your countrymen respect you and adore you, and it is why if this comes to war you will lead our soldiers to victory. Menelaus fights for pride and greed, but you fight for Troy."

Hector grew quiet in thought before he could admit, "After our negotiations, Odysseus approached me… He told me to put Helen on a ship and return her to Menelaus or face the fury of Greece. I saw the truth in his eyes. Menelaus will go to his brother Agamemnon, and the weight of Greece will burden Troy's shores."

—

**A year after negotiations unraveled between Sparta and Troy**, the bronze alarms howled through the streets of Troy, men stormed the armory, and Hector was among the generals rushing their troops toward the beach to fight off the intruders. Their retreat was forced, the beach was taken, and a haunting quiet overtook Troy that day. For Odysseus' warning, the Trojans were prepared with allies called from all corners of the world. Ethiopians arrived beneath their lion sails, Thracian kings marched for Troad, and even King Eetion of Cilicia sent armaments to return the support Troy had once shown his plight. The walls barely held the number of refugees stored within, many members of Myrina's village among them, and Priam was wrought for the diplomacy of gathering supplies and dividing them among their starving people while Hector mulled over war strategy for too many sleepless nights. In the first battle of this war, Hector met his equal in the young, vigorous general Achilles who had shamed him with his pity, dismissing the Crown Prince of Troy from his presence like a lord removes a servant. The Trojan was grateful for his life, but the insult haunted him –another nail in his coffin. Hector was Troy, and like his nation, he suffered this invasion. Myrina had never witnessed him so distraught, restless, and uneasy.

How many nights had she spent staring across the city toward the scattered fires of Greek camps on their shores while Hector declaimed Agamemnon and all those who followed him? On this night, she turned from the cool breezes and drew her robe closer around her body, wrapping her arms across her crest as well to trap in the heat. Somehow a chill crept down her spine all the same, and she vainly wished Hector would cease his pacing like a trapped animal and let them both sleep. A single thought hung heavy on her mind, but she cast it aside to listen to his furious speech.

"The Telemonian Ajax goes on campaign to kill our flocks –even those sheltered beneath Mount Ida! He starves our people!" he snarled and turned on his heel to stride the direction he had come. "They do not wish Helen back. They look toward the destruction of Troy… Paris has brought death to our lands. Selfish, arrogant sack of wine! I should kill him myself and spare Menelaus the reasoning. What a sight that would be… Agamemnon scrambling to whip one of his subordinates, those kings of Greece who deserve no crown, until they give another purpose to besiege our walls. They'll never penetrate them… They were built by Apollo and Posiedon, by gods' hands! Agamemnon, King of Kings they call him for conquering the lands of Greece. He hungers more than he can grasp. These walls will not fall for him or any other man who rises against our lands. Troy holds allies –not slaves! My father and his before him and further still to Tros, they understood that respect holds more powerful than dominance. Respect a man, and he will fight for you. Enslave him, and he would just as soon turn his blade on you for it suits him better! Troy is built of free men." His palms landed like a smack of thunder on the table holding his strategies as he growled, "We will not yield!"

The sound did little to disrupt Myrina's quiet reserve, but a loud wail interrupted the silence that followed Hector's outburst, signaling the waking of their young son. Tacitly, she moved to draw him from his crib and into the security of her arms, and she gently rocked him, murmuring soothing words beneath her breath until his cries quieted. Deflated by the effect he had recklessly had on their son, he sunk into the stool situated before the fire roaring between them, and bowed his head to rub his forehead with an exhausted hand. In such a position, he couldn't anticipate the touch on his curls, and he lifted his head to see his wife standing before him, their son in one arm, and her fingers reaching to smooth the tension from his forehead. With the same calming tone she had addressed their son, she asked, "How many men does he command?"

Her touch quelled his anger for the time, and his muscles released their hold on his bones as he surrendered to the comfort she brought him. "Our scout claims he travelled with more than a thousand ships, fifty men aboard each."

Myrina couldn't calculate even the amount of soldiers that would require and wondered, "Have you ever faced an army so large?"

"Numbers count for nothing if you don't have the wit to command them. He marches with a mass of men as mortal as mine, but I would not exchange ten of my soldiers for a hundred of his. Troy is mother to us all, and we fight for her –not for the greed of one man. Agamemnon will learn the sting of our blades and live long enough to see the sky blackened by our arrows, and he will retreat."

For the strength of his words, Hector's gaze was downcast, his shoulders slumping, and his voice unresolved. "You don't believe that."

"I know the limits of his wisdom and reach of his sword, but his greed… I fear it is has no end. He would have the world if he thought he could pocket it."

Her fingers continued stroking the curls from his temple, and she reflected, "Men are mortal for their limitations. No one can have the world… Even a King of Kings has weaknesses. You will succeed, and he will realize the frailty of his grasp."

He gazed up at her with the agitation melting from his features and subtly shook his head. "Each night you see the fires of Agamemnon's men, the breadth of his army, yet you still have faith in me."

She smiled gently and drew Haemon higher upon her hip where he was decidedly awake for the time being. "You are the bravest and wisest man I know –and the most stubborn. You won't allow defeat."

"You have not met many men, my love," he commented with an amused smirk.

"True… but a surprising number have been princes."

Hector reached to take Haemon from Myrina's arms and lifted him high above his head where the young boy kicked his legs and giggled pleasantly. "I have kept sleep from you and your mother," he admitted, swinging him up once more to toss him lightly, and Haemon erupted with laughter. "I'm amazed she has not kicked me from these quarters."

"Perhaps if Trojan nights were not so cold," she taunted as she turned down the sheets of their bed. "Don't enliven him too much, or he'll never sleep."

His chestnut eyes rolled though he ceased their game to appease Myrina's tired features and gathered Haemon into the crook on his arm where the child held tight with handfuls of Hector's hair. His father pretended to be immune to his tugs and soon realized how excited Haemon was to be the center of attention. "He can scarcely hold up his own head," he lied and stood to escort Haemon back to his crib despite Myrina's loaded gaze.

Rather than argue their son's level of consciousness, she removed her robe and slipped beneath the sheets, relaxing her exhausted muscles into the soft padding of their bed. The wave of weariness hit her with a sudden sweep, and she touched her forehead to shield her eyes from the fires of their room and sensed the sleep poised to consume her. Time slipped through her fingers, and she stirred once more when the bed sunk at her knees. The lights were extinguished, and Hector bent over her to check her state.

"I'm awake," she answered his silent question and shifted onto her elbows to be certain Haemon was returned to his crib.

"Now," Hector chuckled in amusement. "I hadn't realized how tired you were."

"Neither did I." Her back met the bed once more, and she yawned loudly against her palm.

"You wished to tell me something this morning before I left to speak with Lysander and Glaucus."

Her heart leapt as she recalled her news, but facing the calm darkness of their chambers, she lacked the haste to recount it. "I will tell you tomorrow."

"You nearly speared me for not allowing you to tell me. I won't have you sleep angry with me."

She sighed her defeat and rubbed her forehead anxiously as though she could knead away the sleep hanging across her eyes. "It doesn't seem the time, Hector."

"Why are shying from me?"

Her gaze steadied on him, focusing more on his silhouette in the moonlight than the shaded features of his face. She knew them well enough to picture the simultaneous curiosity and frustration on his face and hoped a smile would soon break through these leaden nights. She reluctantly revealed, "I'm with child."

For the moment, he appeared as stunned as the first time she had ever told him, but he burst all the swifter, catching her in his arms and drawing her into his lap. The news seemed tarnished by the dark times they faced, but he reminded her how pleased and excited she was to share it with him. Somehow voicing it and recognizing his reaction made it real. She laughed at her own dismal behavior and wrapped his shoulders with her arms to hold the warmth of his chest against her. His lips met her temple, drawing a line toward her ear where she could feel the smile on his face. His busy schedule had kept him from her side, and he had not the slightest clue until this very second.

"I can't believe it," he admitted and buried his face in her hair. "I thought nothing good would come of this war, but the gods have blessed us once more."

She held him tighter to lock this moment between them. "I hope he opens his eyes in a time of peace."

"If I can manage it," he swore softly, "it will be done."

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**Author's Note**: Hey gorgeous gals! I hope everyone is having a lovely holiday. Christmas is coming soon! Excited? I am :D

Thank you to AmyLNelson, Avatar2009, Alana, Syrena Swift, xandra37, klandgraf2007, elin, and KawaiiHawaiian for the awesome reviews!

Amy: You present a very intriguing idea! I actually was not planning per se on including Briseis, but I can always add something with her in it if you would be interested. The Achilles/Myrina interaction would be pretty friggin sweet, I admit. It hadn't even occurred to me, but when I read your review, I was like Amy's a genius! I have no clue whatsoever how such a thing could go down, but my wheels are turning. I'm going to consider all options! Thanks for the review, doll, and great ideas :) I always appreciate your feedback!

Avatar: Well hello stranger :) Haha sweet and to the point! I like it! I'm glad to see you're still well and reading :D The vanishing Avatar has returned, and I'm so glad you're enjoying how the story is going. Hope to hear from you again xoxo

Alana: Hahahaha omg totally love you for this! Ummm I can't make any promises, but I definitely know how you feel ;) Thanks for the review! xoxo

Syrena: You always manage to crack me up! We'll get married on a mountain top and ride off into the sunset or something ;P I'm so glad you like how everything is unfolding! Damn Paris and his ways, but the Trojan War is going down. I can't say which way Hector will end up (I'm such a bitch), but I've gotten multiple threats for a close friend about what will happen if I kill him haha I hope you enjoyed this chapter, gorgeous! :D

xandra: Well, you got more insight into Helen's mindset! She's not a blind bitch taking advantage of Paris. I kinda saw her as an older woman (like late 20s) who's in this loveless marriage and just falls head over heels for Paris and makes all her hopeless romantic fantasies a reality. It's not exactly a mature, reciprocal, selfless love. Clearly it's destructive to a degree for both Paris and Helen and everyone around them. But I hope you liked Myrina and Helen's interaction though it was a bit brief. There will be more to come! xoxo

klandgraf: This is hell breaking loose :P Unfortunately it's only getting started... Total bummer, but I hope you liked this chapter!

elin: You're too sweet! Seriously that's so kind of you to say. Thank you for the support lovely, and I hope you'll continue to read :) xoxo

Kawaii: Dialogue junkie! You do not know how excited I was to hear from you! I've sent you a PM message because not all can be covered in this space ;) Thanks so much for the review, and I'm glad you like how things are unfolding! :D


	45. The Hands Fall

Chapter 44  
"The Hands Fall"

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Recommended Songs: "Closer" – Kings of Leon & "L490" – 30 Seconds to Mars

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For the multitude of their allies, the perseverance of Troy's walls, and the apparent invincibility of her commander, the war continued nine long, arduous years. Nine years had Trojan men and women not dared set foot outside the walls. Nine years had food rationed down to smaller and smaller allotments. Nine years had the gates opened to the throng of soldiers rushing the Greek forces and welcomed the diminished numbers when they retreated. Apollo drew an unwelcome light upon the stark depravity within the walls: much trade was ceased, desperate times made thieves of honest men, and a city was losing its will. Villains were numerous in times of war, heroes few, but Hector carried the hope of his nation upon his shoulders each day he rode through its streets and out to war. Already his reputation preceded him and grew to sketch him as the man of legend. "A headlong terror," the Greeks called him when he tore through their lines. "An indomitable torrent," others suggested, but the underlying quality remained constant. To the Greek soldiers gathered from all corners of Agamemnon's conquered lands, Hector was a warrior to be feared, whose blade burned bodies and fed his unyielding force. So famous had his name become among the foreign camps that the kings of Greece gambled for the chance to fight and destroy him.

The Telamonian Ajax was named victor and thrust past his own men with his blue eyes set on the Crown Prince. Arrows showered down upon the Greeks who dared step too close to the towering walls, and the Trojans displayed their strength better used in defense. Too eager was Agamemnon in his greedy lust and too easily provoked for how often Hector drew him toward the walls to attack them on their field. The Prince was on foot with his men, his bronze blade stained red from the throats he had slashed, and his men stepped over the piled dead carcasses as they demolished the second line. Ajax swung his club overhead, knocking three Trojans back onto their brethren with one sweep, and wiser men dashed from his path while others dumb with courage attempted to overtake the giant. He laughed as one stumbled into his route, and his club fell upon his head, forcing him to his knees, the blood spilling thickly out from beneath his cracked helmet. The Trojan met the ground soaked in his own blood, and as Ajax reconsidered his path, his eyes met furious chestnut. Hector retracted his blade from another Greek's chest and turned to face the enormous warrior who wore no helmet or formal armor –a mark of his arrogance as much as his power, but Hector wasn't intimidated. His blade whistled where it swung in his grip to readjust its position in preparation for the club charging him.

Hector ducked the first swing, stepped from the second, and narrowly caught the third with his sword. The Telamonian suffered no dignity in battle and quickly showed his barbaric rage when he shifted forward, butting his head directly into Hector's. The Prince couldn't avoid it and staggered backward in a rattled daze to rebound from it. His heel caught on a neglected shield to his luck, and he fell toward the ground, the stone club flying inches from his face. His fall was broken by a dead man, but his blood stained skin proved unsteady ground as Hector scrambled to avoid the next attack. His shield abandoned for its dead weight, his sword slipped from his fingers in the plummet, he met the wooden shaft of the club with nothing but his bronze wrist fenders, arms crossed to hold the Greek's strength. It proved too great, and Hector growled angrily as he deflected the blow, letting it slide from his guards and to the ground beside his shoulder, and he found the leather grip of a spear when Ajax straightened for another attack. Instead he was forced to dodge the stab and missed when Hector rolled to his feet and discarded the heat and weight of his helmet. The sandy winds drew across the plains and shifted through his damp curls, but Ajax seemed abruptly amused by the scar revealed on the Prince's face.

"So you're not untouchable," he sneered and circled around the space soldiers had made for their battle.

"Few men have left their mark," Hector assured him, shifting carefully to maintain the space between them and continually aware of the weapon at his side.

"I care not for battle wounds. I have but one request, Prince…" He ceased his stride and pointed his club at Hector's chest. "When you meet Charon, tell him Ajax the Great sent you to Hades."

The Trojan's brow furrowed to keep out the sun, but in the stillness he erupted, striking the club from before him and lunging at his enemy. Ajax evaded the attack, spinning his club in his grip and charging at Hector once more. The Prince met or avoided every strike, but with the Telamonian's rising rage came his unleashed strength. Another blow split his spear in half, the bronze tip lost, but Hector had no time to search out a new weapon. He rushed toward the Greek before his club could meet its mark and drove the splintered wood into Ajax's bare shoulder. The giant howled for the wound was deep and messy, and Hector attacked him with nothing but his bare hands. One punch grazed the huge man's face, but it had little more effect than spitting in a wounded man's eye. His blood boiled, eyes nearly bulging in rage, and Ajax immediately dropped his club and hammered his fist into Hector's cheek. The Trojan fell with his eyes almost rolling into his head as if a stonewall had crashed into him. There was a searing explosion of pain blooming on the side of his face, and he landed on the dry sand with the breath knocked from his lungs. Through the silent clamor of pain, a gleam of bronze caught his eye, and he saw his blade abandoned in the sand. Near enough to reach, but his open palm never landed. One large hand gripped the back of his chest plate and pulled him to his feet only for another fist to knock him to the ground. He coughed the choked breath from chest and thick blood from his mouth. Sand coated his lips, and he crawled for the chance to gain his footing again.

Ajax's booming laughter resounded behind him, and he called out, "Is this the great Hector? Defender of Troy?" He tore the shattered wood from his shoulder as though plucking a splinter from his hand and tossed the useless piece aside. Blood poured from the open wound to draw heavy lines down his long arms. The injury was reopened, but he found the reach to move his arm again. Soldiers roared around them, some engaged in combat and others watching the spectacle unfold. The Telemonian was pleased with the attention and grandly approached his fallen enemy. Once more he grabbed the Prince by the back of his chest plate and helped him to his feet. Too quickly did Hector spin and bury the broken bronze tip of his spear into the Greek's eye. Ajax howled with a force that chilled soldiers lines away, but Hector rushed to retrieve his blade. The Telemonian was too distracted with his pain, both hands covered his wounded eye, so that he never saw the Trojan's approach until the sword pierced his chest. Faced with death, the giant stood tall and grabbed the hilt to draw Hector closer. His other hand circled the Prince's neck, but the fingers never grasped as they could. Hector watched the strength and life slip from his body, and soon his blade was the only thing holding Ajax up. He retracted the bronze, and the Greek hit the dirt in a disruption of dust.

Hector struggled to gulp down the breath to ease his racing heart and shaking muscles, and he swallowed down a thick mouthful of blood. The metallic taste coated the back of his throat, and he grimaced unconsciously though he faced the Greek retreat. He found his steed Galanthe and rushed forward with his men, swinging his stained sword to cut down the soldiers who fell behind. Only at the ends of the plain did he slow unexpectedly, lifting a hand to halt those around him.

Lysander hurried to check on his liege and pressed, "We should follow them!"

"No! Let them run." He sheathed his blade and thought of the fallen king who had nearly been his match. "Agamemnon suffered a great loss today. We need no more bloodshed… We'll return inside the walls."

He turned to search out a swift route toward the gates while Lysander called out behind him, "Back to the city! Fall back!"

—

Morning broke through the cloudy sky the following day with incandescent rays scattered across the lands. Both armies rested and recuperated, tending to injured men and making arrangements for those who had fallen. The drear atmosphere seemed appropriate for mourning since Gorgythion was among those sent to Hades. The younger Trojan Prince had died honorably in battle, throwing himself beside his eldest brother Hector to take the arrow meant for the Crown Prince. The burden weighed too heavily on the Prince and commander of the Trojan army. Deiphobus, Helenus, Polydorus… How many more brothers would be consumed by this war? To avoid an answer, Hector retreated to the atrium of his quarters and addressed his favorite responsibility –that of a father.

"Keep your balance," he chided Haemon who held the wooden practice sword with both hands. The weight still encumbered his slender, young frame, and Hector recognized the simultaneous frustration and concentration in his son's chestnut eyes. At times, he had the sensation of gazing into a mirror of his former self like peering through the ages when he had once been young and innocent and eager to please. The same unruly curls cropped up on his head, the same dark eyes gazed into his, and the same tall figure sprouted more each day. Haemon was strong and intelligent but guarded of his thoughts. Hector never intended to raise his son this way, but somehow his attempts at compassion and patience had been futile. Haemon rarely showed pain, sadness, or weakness. Always Hector met his son's gaze and saw the hardened strength that he knew the young boy couldn't possibly possess.

Haemon struck abruptly, and Hector met each attack with his own practice sword, listening to the blunt contact echoing within the stone columns. Haemon was persistent in his intent, too determined to realize he would never surprise his father, and he continued his onslaught of strikes despite the reddening of his cheeks. He recalled each method of attack readily and found a rhythm in his own tactics. His strength was growing as was his speed, and Hector carefully added more force to his blade, causing Haemon to stagger back and fall onto his backside.

Still, his father was smiling proudly and recognized, "That was good. You've been practicing." Haemon gave no retort only breathing heavily from his position on the stone floor with his cheeks flushed and brow damp in sweat. His eyes were both disheartened and annoyed, and Hector gingerly offered his hand and decided, "That's enough for today."

Apparently his son didn't agree, and the young Trojan sprung to his feet and charged at his father's stomach. The rush surprised Hector who stepped back only to catch his calves on another son's doubled over form and tumble backwards. Nereus jumped from his hands and knees and joined Ariston in swarming their father's chest and holding down the Crown Prince. Hector's hearty laughter resonated inside the columns, and he wrestled all of three of his sons from oppressing him. Each time one was removed, another took his place, and soon Hector recognized the tiny palms of his daughter on his face.

"You as well Iliana!" he called out in surprise, and the toddler giggled happily as one hand tugged at her father's nose. "Even my own daughter has betrayed me!" With all four gathered around him in joint attack, Hector ceased his struggled and conceded, "I've been outmatched. I surrender!"

"A wise choice," Myrina agreed in an amused tone from her place at the outskirts of the atrium where she watched the entire scene unfold and perhaps had even coaxed Iliana to join her brothers. The three boys slipped off their father, Ariston the last of them with the help of Nereus.

Hector sat up and pulled Iliana into the crook of his arm as he wondered, "Have you four been scheming behind my back?"

"It was my idea," Nereus stated with a satisfied smile. Hector could have suspected as much since his second son was as much a master of his wit as Haemon was of his growing strength. Appropriately, he had been born with eyes as blue as his mother to compliment his patient spirit, and the bright color seemed the best way to highlight their ever-pensive nature. Even as babe he had been attentive and curious to the surprise and exhausted responsibility of both his parents who were constantly answering questions or chasing after him when something caught his eye. "You've always told us to be mindful of strategy."

"I have," Hector agreed and chuckled beneath his breath when Haemon caught Ariston before he could tumble over an uneven stone. A third son had felt too great a blessing for even a Crown Prince, and his developing personality was the more difficult to grasp. Somehow Ariston had assumed a mixture of his elder siblings' traits and was the bolder of the three for mischief. The Prince couldn't help imaging his sons as grown men inheriting his lands and what a team they would be. What need would Haemon have for a counsel with Nereus' insight and Ariston's daring? The trio grouped together reminded Hector of his childhood with Paris and his other siblings, and inevitably his thoughts returned to Gorgythion whose body was being washed and prepared for burning. Never had he anticipated a younger siblings' death before his own.

"I can see the fear in the eyes of Troy's future enemies when you three ascend the throne after me," he pressed to mask the sorrow creeping into his belly.

"What enemies will we have once you defeat the Greeks, father?" Nereus asked and glanced toward the west where their shores still remained occupied.

"So long as Troy stands and is prosperous, there will always be those watching for weakness." Iliana writhed in his grip for the chance to stand beside her brothers, and Hector resisted the instinct to catch her arm and steady her when she wobbled toward them. Only a few months had she been walking, but already she was persistent and single-minded and stumbled with blind purpose.

Ariston mistakenly swung his arm at his brother and hit his sister to the ground. Before Hector or Myrina could utter a word, Haemon was helping his sister up and scolding Ariston, "Be careful! You can't be rough with her!"

"It was only an accident, Haemon," Myrina soothed and drew Iliana into her arms to search for any injuries. The child didn't cry and impatiently struggled against her mother to be set down once more. "She's perfectly unharmed."

Haemon shifted uneasily over his feet with his gaze downcast to shroud a sudden frustration that his father knew too well but lacked the words to recognize. "Am I dismissed, father?"

"Yes… Wash up and prepare for the rites. You both as well, Nereus and Ariston." The three brothers left to do as they were told leaving Hector still seated on the floor of the atrium. Unable to follow her brothers up the stairs, Iliana retreated toward her father bearing an impish smile as though prepared for an unnamed game. Hector returned the look half-heartedly for his sorrow swelled in the open air and turned his attention to his wife standing feet from him and giving him the space to grieve though he never asked for it. Somehow she had grown more intuitive than he had ever expected. Her features softened with recognition, and he understood his eyes had betrayed him. Years ago he might've been embarrassed or angry for her intrusive vision, but now he merely pushed himself to his feet. Iliana reached for him to take her into his arms and let her touch the flowers blooming from the trees, and he watched almost as entranced as Iliana while her chubby little hands felt the petals. When she tore one from the branch and attempted to taste it, he quickly coaxed it from her hands and directed them away from the trees for the time being.

"You should wash and change also," Myrina commented in a gentle tone, and suddnely her black robes seemed to overwhelm her slender figure. "They'll expect you soon."

Ignoring the reminder, he recognized his leaden feet and commented, "You saw them charging, didn't you? You knew their plans."

She smiled and shrugged diplomatically. "Perhaps."

"You didn't think to warn me?"

"It was a good plan," she conceded. "They should conquer you every now and then… They think you're undefeatable, and it's a difficult legacy to follow."

"I thought the losses at war and injuries I've sustained would accomplish that… I remember when I thought my father had no flaws. Age removes that naivety, and I won't welcome that day. My children will look at me and be able to judge the man I was."

"They love you. Age has no power to change that."

Hector shook his head lightly and revealed, "I wonder what they will say of this war when they are old enough to know its origins?"

"I think they will surprise you with their understanding."

His chestnut eyes steadied on his wife's face barely noticing the sway of time on her features until he chose to consider the wrinkles forming at the edges of her eyes and lips, but when his palm caught her chin, he knew the skin as soft and malleable to his touch as he remembered. The depth of her eyes and air softened from years as a mother separated this woman from the one he had married years ago, and though he had come to know the nuances of her glances and mute expressions, there was still so much more mystery that he would never grasp.

"How did you bear this burden so early in life?"

"Not as well as you have," she revealed. "I cried for years. You remember that."

"I shouldn't burn him. He did not yet have a wife or a son to carry his memory."

"You'll remember him. Troy will remember him… There is a reason you still stand before me, and he does not."

"What reason is that?"

"You have a wife and sons and a daughter, and your country carries hope because they see you weather this war. Gorgythion was a brave man and a wonderful brother. He sacrificed himself for the better of his country and his family." Her hands circled his, gently drawing it from her face. "You are meant to live whether by the gods' will or by fate or by your own good fortune, and I am grateful every day for that."

"As am I," he admitted almost shameful of that truth when faced with his sibling's honor.

Her hands squeezed his reassuringly, and she promised, "The best way to honor the dead is to live your life."

His gaze dropped pensively, the silence falling between them ripe with his thoughts, and then a wry smile took over his face as he recalled a lesson his father taught him long ago: "War is young men dying, and old men talking."

—

Gorgythion's ashes warmed his urn still, and yet Hector sat in his stone seat beside his father's throne and faced the generals and councilmen gathered before him. Fire licked at the bronze basins lining the hall and gave life to the still pool stretching from each end of the room, a reminder to be calm and undeterred as its veneer, but mortal tempers gave rise like the reflection of fire in the surface. Sorrow's hand stilled Hector's tongue so that he observed the hurled insults, raised voices, and arrogant pride of his peers with mute resolve. Priam too was unusually quiet this eve, perhaps pondering the veil his son's death had cast across the lands and which was now torn away by his own accomplices' eager hands.

"The Telemonian Ajax fell! His soldiers accounted for much of Agamemnon's wrath-"

"They fight now in honor of their fallen king! Leaderless, Agamemnon controls them."

"They recover from mourning as do we. We must strike them when they are most vulnerable! For our Prince!"

Hector's brow unconsciously twitched. Gorgythion's ashes warmed his urn still, and already his name was used for the propaganda of a fool's ego.

"We cannot violate the terms the gods have set forth," the head priest spoke up in his silken voice. "We must wait for the mourning period to finish before we take up arms lest we anger the gods! Apollo smiles on Troy still. He will not let a Prince of Troy, a son to him, die in vain. The end comes. I have seen the signs!"

"What signs are these?" Priam finally spoke from his grand throne. With their king now active in conversation, the restless tongues stilled.

"I spoke with a farmer at the temple…" The priest smiled pleasantly and turned to address his entire audience, somehow mistaking their attentions for his words and not the king's. "He saw a raven flying with a snake clutched in its talons. Apollo has revealed his sign. Troy will be victorious!" In a rush the hall was alive with all voices speaking at once, and the priest struggled to regain his power as he pressed, "Our Prince's death has angered Apollo! He will show the Greeks his influence!"

"Silence!" Priam commanded, and the men quieted reluctantly. The old King adjusted his seat with obvious frustration and considered the priest beneath his icy blue gaze. "Apollo gives his blessing for our attack. You are certain of this?"

"Yes, my lord. He wishes to see his beloved city rise from this war."

"We must attack! We cannot wait for Agamemnon to gather his strength once more. His men's morale is shaken after the death of Ajax. They fear Hector more than ever," Glaucus spoke up as eager as he ever was for battle. "He will lead our army to glory." Hector's gaze caught with his old friend's, and he struggled to keep the crass words at bay.

"We cannot underestimate the strength of Agamenon's army no matter the morale of the men," Euryalus contributed from his seat. Age had crippled the use of his legs, but he held himself proudly as if he still rode beside Troy's soldiers. "Their numbers will stifle our men while their blades cut Troy's sons down."

"Apollo will aid our soldiers! He will guide our arrows and blades!" the priest persisted.

"I have fought in many battles, and I have never seen the hand of a god reach from the heavens to aid mortal men," Hector snapped abruptly, unable to hold his tongue, and the hall silenced for the sharp crack of its Crown Prince's anger. His chestnut eyes held the priest in their aim, and his gaze was unwavering in its fury. "You expect us to build strategies around bird signs? My brother fell to Hades, and I did not see Apollo's hand reach to catch him… You would condemn more sons of Troy to die before you picked up a sword to fight beside them!"

"Hector," Priam reproached, "he is a servant of the gods. He sees what we cannot."

"I serve the gods, father. I give offerings, I teach my children to fear and love them, but I will not expect them to intervene on my behalf any more than my brother's or my soldiers'." His skin pricked with his rage crawling beneath the surface, but his face remained stoic even as he faced the decided expressions of his peers. In this moment, his words fell on deaf ears.

Once more Priam questioned, "You are certain of the signs?"

"Yes, my king," the priest assured him too confidently, "Apollo protects Troy."

—

In the twilight before the Sun God drove his chariot and fiery steeds across the horizon, the shores of Troy were illuminated in a haunting blaze. The ebbing darkness was laced with howls of death and the stench of burnt flesh. He had introduced this tactic to his soldiers in war long ago, but it was never more chilling than this dawn as if Hades' mouth opened below them, his voracious hunger needing to feast on the fresh flesh. Their collective drumming beat out the approach of light and chased away the dark. Greek troops marched to seize them. The sun lingered unseen behind them where Apollo turned a blind eye. The gray skies hung lower, and the death of one warrior signaled the end.

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**Author's Note**: Hey my lovelies! I apologize for the delay, but I was enjoying the last of my winter break. I hope everyone got what they wanted for Christmas :) We all know what has happened, and what is to come... The only question is will I really do it? haha

Thank you to AmyLNelson, Avatar2009, ice cream and hockey, windex, Syrena Swift, KawaiiHawaiian, klandgraf2007, xandra37, Cotton Strings, and It's Amy-chan for the kind reviews! :D

Amy: Hey gorgeous :) You made me beam when you said Myrina has matured. I got all maternal and was like "yea... that's my girl" hahaha Totally lame, I know. Anyway I had to have Myrina be like you bitches is crazy cause frankly I needed to vent to Paris and Helen. If only I had her punch him in the balls, right? Still brewing about Achilles... That one is so friggin interesting. If I can pull it off, I think I'll have to pat myself on the back haha Thanks for the review, and I hope you liked this chapter! xoxo

Avatar: You're like a magic trick. One minute you see her then *poof* she's gone! Oh my goodness yea killing Hector would just be plain mean, but mum's the word on that topic. I like to build the suspense and make you question how nice of an author I really am. I mean it takes some balls to kill the man you've used 40 something chapters to build haha Well I hope I'll see you appear once more and that you liked this chapter!

ice cream: For some reason if I type in your name properly, it disappears... Weird. I wanted to PM you and say thanks for adding this to your favorites' list, but I couldn't soooo hopefully you'll forgive me :( That was so sweet of you! And to review too! I do indeed feel special :) I am keeping quiet about Hector's fate, but I can tell you it will be revealed within the next two chapters... egads! I hope you'll continue you read and that you enjoyed this chapter as well! Thanks for the review xoxo P.s. now I want ice cream.

windex: Haha what a name! I think of My Big Fat Greek Wedding every time I see windex... I digress. Bastard movie people hahaha I really don't want to be thrown into the bastard group, but my fate and Hector's will be revealed in due time. Thanks for the kind words, and I hope you liked this chapter!

Syrena: First off, I like nearly crashed my car cause I was being an idiot and over eager when I say you had reviewed and thus considered my email in my car... Yea the cake almost made me lose it! Secondly, I really hope that whatever happens to Hector, you'll still be my wonderful wife haha Thirdly, I am very pleased and proud to know that I can make you puke glitter... in a good way. I swear I was laughing my ass off while I was reading that. Unicorns and rainbows and shit hahaha I'm glad I've kept Myrina and Hector from that realm! Otherwise I'd just have to jump off a magical rainbow and perhaps impale myself on a unicorn horn. Yep. Thanks for the super sweet review, and I hope you liked this chapter! xoxo

Kawaii: Dialogue junkie! I'm very happy to hear that your family is doing well. I hope you had a wonderful holidays! God knows you deserved some holiday cheer :) I'm glad you enjoyed the development, and hopefully you liked this addition as well! xoxo

klandgraf: I love typing in your name. It's so fun to say it in my head while I'm typing it in... Random fact for you :) Haemon has three baby brothers and a baby sister! How's that for procreation? Nope not even war will dampen Hector's raging libido haha Oh, I kinda love filling you with dread in that mean I-know-something-you-don't-know kinda way. That being said, hopefully you will be pleased when we reach the end :) Thanks for the review lovely, and hope you enjoyed this chapter!

xandra: Xandra Warrior Princess... Thanks for the review! :D Helen and Paris really annoy me too. I was trying to make Helen a more sympathetic character because we all know being married to Menelaus can't be all flowers and smiles, but at the same point in time, she's screwing up my character's lives soooo I kinda wanna kill her off just cause. Like part of me was like what if I send her back? But that wouldn't end things so alas... Hopefully you liked this chapter! xoxo

Cotton: Hey doll! I didn't get a chance to PM you and tell you how much I appreciate you adding my story to your favorites'! I feel like I got a VIP pass or something haha Troy isn't exactly at the helm of earth-shattering new fanfiction, so I'm always amazed that people are even reading this! I'm glad you stumbled upon it, and that you enjoy it :) Thanks so much for the kind words, and I hope you'll continue reading!

Amy-chan: Oh my! Now there's two Amy's! AND this is your first time reading a Troy story? :O Dayum gurl. I'm your first haha How exciting is that! And I think you get a gold star for uh reading this whole drama, drama in 2 days! Jesus... You're cracking me up and kinda making me blush a little with the blughing! I really appreciate the sweet comments, and I'm so happy you've hopped over to the Troy universe. Join us crazy people! haha Thanks for the review, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter xoxo


	46. Ready for the Fight

Chapter 45  
"Ready for the Fight"

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Recommended Songs: "No Light, No Light" – Florence + The Machine & "Poison & Wine" – The Civil Wars

* * *

A red haze underlined the black smoke rising still from the shores of Troy. Inside the city inhabitants were still, not even babes dared cry as if they understood the fateful occasion of dawn , and thousands of eyes turned to the west and the smoldering ash tainting the morning sky. Pregnant anticipation veiled the walls, and when the soldiers returned with heads hung low and carrying their fallen brothers upon their shoulders, there were no lines of Trojans to welcome them with open arms. Vacant expression leaden with terror and despair reflected in every face, and the only sounds to break the silence were the cries of a mother rushing to wash her son's corpse with her tears. From a platform atop the palace walls, the scene unfolded so that the King, his councilmen, and brethren registered the direct consequences of their decision. Myrina too was among those gazing toward the horizon stained black from unceremonious funeral pyres made of the bowels of Greek ships, and her attention shifted across the pale apricot plains to the stone walls and the empty streets whose vibrancy and noise and restlessness were the stuff of memories.

Her fingertips anxiously massaged the smooth shell necklace that had been a present from her husband. It had taken him years to find a twin of the one Aeneas tore from her, but time only strengthened her love for its austere beauty, which she now realized was simple in comparison to the other royal trinkets. Her focus was drawn to the sharp edges where she pressed more firmly, letting the delicate shell dig into her skin deeper and deeper until she felt the pain flood beneath the oppression of her melancholy. Unconsciously she sought the sensation, mesmerized with her own pain when she faced such a dire scene. A warm brush on her shoulder shocked her into the present, and she turned guiltily to face her husband now free of his blood stained uniform. She curled her fingers into her palm, feeling the indentation in their flesh that remained even after she released the shells, and she recalled how he had undressed and gazed at the pieces of his armor as if it housed the eyes to witness his faults. Even removed of the heavy bronze plating, remorse shrouded him as thickly as when he had returned to her side. He had not spoken a word.

The intensity of his gaze unleashed a new rush of concern to light her eyes, and she confessed, "You're scaring me."

"You recall the paths to the east? The old goat trails that lead up the mountain?"

"Yes," she murmured numbly, and her features fell to express her confusion and concern.

His chestnut eyes were cold, his tone even as he continued, "If the Greeks penetrate the walls, you take our children, and you run… Head east toward Mount Ida. They won't track you as well in the forest. Follow the Scamander like I've shown you. Don't stop until you reach Cilicia."

Her eyes wavered to see him speak these words, and her voice quaked when she questioned, "Why are you telling me this?"

"If the Greeks penetrate the walls, you must save our children. You must survive."

Those brown eyes sliced through, hammering in an unvoiced fear, and she stammered desperately, "You will protect us." As his gaze slipped away, the wall struck between them screaming in its silence, and she reached to grip his hand and ground him beside her. "Hector, speak to me. What has happened?"

"I killed a boy today… He was young –too young to-" The words caught in his throat, his head bowed guiltily, and she held his hand tighter in her own as if to steal his pain.

"Death has no prejudice," she assured him, and her eyes darted anxiously to unravel the secret surrounding him. "You told me that."

"He was Achilles' cousin," Hector continued without acknowledging her contribution or the grip of her hand so tight her knuckles were turning white. "He wore his armor. He led the Myrmidons… He even moved like him."

"You did not know." He turned to her and revealed his face brimming with sorrow, heavy and deep. "You did not know." Intuition pricked her skin to send chills down her spine, and she understood, "You think he will come for you." She latched onto the admission swelling behind his eyes, and it drove her to continue, "You cannot be judged for the cruelties of war… You have faced him before. You left with your life." Her thoughts stumbled from her lips as a nervous jumble, and his expression softened in too omniscient a gaze as though he had seen this fate play out before today. She yearned to shut his eyes and silence their resolution.

He squeezed her hand, but something was slipping through her fingers; and she fought for the solid weight of his palm in her own. She couldn't stop his gentle words anymore than she could retrieve what was lost. "He will come."

"Don't," she begged in a gasp, but the plea came too late. "Why are you saying this to me? Why are you doing this?"

His brow furrowed as he watched the trembling of her eyes, and he soothed, "None can take me until it is my time."

"Stay within the gates, and Death will not touch you –not until you are old and at my side and have seen our sons and daughter grow tall."

"I pray Zeus lets them follow after me to be greater than I ever was… If he wills it, perhaps they may avenge me."

Her sorrow turned sour, tainting her face with a flash of bitter anger as she charged, "Don't give them that burden! Don't make me speak of the man you _were_. Save your life for our children –for your wife –for your country. Troy is nothing without its commander."

"Troy is nothing without the love of its people, and my death has no power to change that."

"You give hope to thousands who have been oppressed by ten years of war. The soldiers call your name. You are Troy's most beloved son. You are the hero plucked straight from her breast! Men have died under your command with respect and love for you! Does that mean nothing to you? Would you let a bastard son of Zeus steal that from you?" Hector shifted to respond, but she would not give him the chance, too furious and too desperate when she continued, "You would leave me alone with four children to raise… You would leave us alone with wolves at the gate! What honor does that teach your children?"

"I don't have a choice-"

"You always have a choice. Always."

"Then I choose to fight!" Hector growled suddenly in frustration. "I won't hide within the walls for the rest of my life like a coward. Whether it is a day from now, a month, a year, or twenty, he won't cease until he's dead or has received his vengeance."

Her own retort was stifled as a servant announced, "The Dardanian Prince Aeneas waits in the throne hall as you requested, my lord."

Immediately, Hector headed toward the threshold with Myrina on his heels. She grasped his arm to halt him for too much was spoken and too much left unsaid, but he merely turned to her and commanded, "Wait for me." The frustration cusped on her lips, now drawn in a firm line across her face. It would do her no good to curse him for leaving her when he could not ignore his cousin's company, but Aeneas' presence was a further warning of some private affair. She watched her husband's back disappear around the corner of the corridor and retreated into their quarters with a sickening realization delivered by her own solitude.

The hall was unusually quiet. The eager tongues that had cast their judgment and overwhelmed the space days before now rested. At the front, Aeneas paced across the width of the hall until he heard Hector's approach and turned to face his cousin. Concern hung heavy from his shoulders though the Trojan Prince attempted a feeble smile.

"I heard of the boy," Aeneas spoke without hesitation. "It was not your fault, cousin. He wished to be seen as Achilles, and so he was –to his death. I would have done the same. Any man would have."

"I've not called you to speak of the past."

"You are concerned about Achilles' reaction?" the Dardanian suspected though his tense stance suggested a deeper omniscience he was attempting to subdue. "One man cannot scale these walls less tear through them… Even a son of Zeus." He smirked abruptly and added, "Though with his reputation, I would not be surprised if the bastard tried. He's arrogant enough to think he could tear down the stone with his own hands."

"He is arrogant enough to call for me," Hector resolved, "and I am compelled to answer."

"You command an army," he scoffed. "Let him call. One man cannot defeat thousands."

"I will not hide behind my men."

Aeneas pitched a look of incredulity and pressed, "No man is more slave to his pride or drudge to his blood thirst than the warrior Achilles. He has no morals or doctrines. He abides by no law than his own. Even the gods curse him for he spits at their feet." His gaze steadied on his friend, but the words had no visible effect. "He is less a man as a weapon."

"I won't hide."

"There is no shame in maintaining your station, Hector. You have no obligation to meet him solely. You were tricked as much as he was, and his fury and wrath is at the hands of his own cousin for his foolhardiness. You bear no blood on this matter."

"He will see this as a personal insult."

"And you are obliged to answer his skewed conscience?"

"I must stand for my people in what is honorable and right… You know I cannot avoid this."

"You're an ass for your code and your morality!" Aeneas spat furiously. "You fight a lawless man and call it justice? What purpose is there, Hector? All these years I've mistaken your pride for righteousness."

"My decision is prideful," Hector agreed, his own fury rising to taint his voice. "I do not want my sons to look upon their father as a coward. I do not want to hide at the back of my lines when our army goes to war. And I do not want to look over my shoulder at every turn waiting for him because I know he will come, Aeneas. He will come, and I must face him as a man who honors everything that Achilles does not." His conviction silenced his cousin even as the tension wrought between them, but Hector had not called him to argue a decision he had already made. Before the Dardanian could speak in opposition, Hector recognized, "I will not survive this war, cousin."

Aeneas' features contorted, and he shifted away from Hector toward the basins at their right to avoid his cousin's words. Instead of acknowledging the sorrow swelling in his gut, he burst, "You cannot proclaim the future! You cannot selfishly decide what will come tomorrow!"

"Aeneas," he continued as if the man's explosion had gone unheard, "you have been a brother to me. We have faced foreign armies, drank ourselves into stupors in celebration, fought over beauties for sport… but I have never asked anything of you." Aeneas still kept his attention on the wall, expecting the request even before Hector said it. "Now you must promise me something."

The Dardanian shook his head unwillingly though he turned to see the resolve carved on Hector's face. Words fled from his tongue when always he had been a master of oratory, but even a demi-god was silenced by regret.

"When I am gone, you must protect her." Hector paused to be sure the request met its mark, but Aeneas gave no inclination. "Watch over my family. Keep them safe no matter the cost… Swear to me you will."

His stoic mask faltered, and he struggled to keep his tone steady as he rejoined, "I swear it."

—

No sooner had his foot crossed the threshold of his room did she spring forward and rush to meet him. Hector stilled abruptly at her charge and couldn't anticipate the smoldering eyes waiting for him as if he had never left. The fire crackled behind them, giving a voice to the mounting tension, and the rustling of her dress shouted through the space as she fell to her knees. He was struck to stone, unmoving and scarcely breathing though she coaxed his scarred and callused hands into her own and brushed her lips across each knuckle. They settled more heavily on the ring to mark its significance, and there he recognized the damp warmth of her cheeks. His invisible binds shattered, and he found the familiarity of her name on his tongue, "Myrina…"

Her body bent until her tawny curls tumbled onto his feet, and he barely caught her shoulders before her lips could fall to them as well. He gripped her arms and tried to draw her to her feet once more, but she was limp in his hands, hanging her head still to hide her face.

"I cannot lose you."

He swallowed to force down the prickly lump forming in his throat and surrendered to his knees as well. He guided her chin to face him and met the evidence of his decision though those haunting eyes bladed through him more deeply than he had ever known. His iron features tried to restrain the quaking in his eyes, and she reached to hold his cheeks and steady him as she pleaded, "Let me bear you more children. Let me love you longer. Let me perish at your side, and you at mine, when we are old and have watched our children grow and seen our country through this war. Please, my love, please…"

His throat was suddenly parched, his voice caught, but her thumb nimbly caught the first trail to stain his features. Even the scar across his eye had not marked him so completely. The hot tear stung her fingertip for she had never felt his sorrow manifest, and she knew.

She was on her feet, stumbling away from him in a rush of fury, and she sought to curse her husband, the Greeks, the gods… When she spun to face him, she saw the hand reach for her and swiftly stepped away. She refused to allow him to breach her resolve, but he caught her as he always did and stilled the trembling of her lips with a heavy kiss. Her palms gathered his robes poised to push him away and draw him closer, her muscles tense in the space between, but she broke under his tender touch. Her moist cheeks stained his, and she inhaled sharply against his kiss to fight a choked sob. She was crumbling as though he were kindling her demise when he held her cheeks, stroked away the tears, and continued hushing each sob. She would fall to his feet if he allowed it. She would beg him. She would pray on her knees until they were bloody. All this she promised when her hands abandoned his robes and grasped onto his neck, holding him close for her lips to crash into him unrestrained and desperate. Her mouth molded over his own with the sear of his breath on her cheeks and tears captured between them. His arms winded around her in a suffocating embrace. Her chest burned. Her eyes burned. Her lips burned.

Their fight shifted into the pressure building between them, his palm digging into her lower back, her hands frozen around his neck, and they stumbled clumsily into the stone column. His fingers sunk into her hip, grappling with the material of her dress next, but she couldn't release him to manage it. Her intent solely concentrated and fear driving her, but he wrenched her hand away and pinned her wrist against the stone above them. The shoulder of her dress slipped down her arm, and her forehead kneaded into the bristle of his cheek when he kissed her hair. The night air stung her moist cheeks and sent her deeper into his embrace. Her eyes wouldn't open. She smelled the burnt ash of the fire inside his tent, the fluttering in her gut of victory, the sour taste in her throat from months without him. In one rough motion, her dress fell to the floor, and her naked body brushed the linen material of his robes, itching for heat of his skin. The swell of the column forced the curve of her back. His vest was removed, and her lips massaged his beard to feel the shock of his hardened chest against her. The sea was rushing beneath her, sweeping her feet out and dragging her under, but his arms locked around her and drew her up and away.

The stone chilled her, his naked touch set her on fire, and she found his lips once more as she recalled their taste and weight like it were the first time. Her thighs fit him, and his hands buried into her flesh to hold her. He was slow and careful, feeling her shivering in his grip, and she kissed him until the memories were spinning behind her lids.

"_What is your name?"_

_The young prince stood proudly. "Hector. And yours?"_

_She tucked a piece of brown hair behind her ear and answered, "Myrina."_

Her arms locked around his shoulders, the cold nipped at the sweat beading across their skin, and his hands moved her with him. The swell of emotions and pleasure crested so that she could do little more than grip him to steady herself. His body kneaded her into the stone, crushing her and filling her, and she held him closer until the air wouldn't fit beneath her ribs. He shifted through her thighs and arms, never leaving her and bounding over her. He crashed into her purposefully, sending the flush from her thighs into her face, and only then did she break from his lips and crane her neck back to suck in the night air. He slipped her knees up higher, fit his hips in farther, and her slick skin slid across the marble, the swell moving lower down her back. He bent around her and buried his mouth into her neck. She held him tighter but couldn't restrain him. Another thrust made her cry out.

_"I will see you each week if you wish."_

_Her eyes widened at the offer, and she tilted her head curiously. "Why?"_

_Hector smiled and asked, "Will you have me?" He was already backing away toward the door, and Myrina followed after him as she tried to decide whether to forgive him or not. He reached the doorway and pressed, "What is your answer?"_

_"Yes."_

She tumbled over him, letting her knees sink deep into their mattress and her hair fall over her shoulders. His hands healed the bruises on her back, and her hips fell onto him. Every muscle shuddered to obey her need, and never had she worked to kiss him and engulf him so fully. His thumbs locked over her hips, and he chased her when she lifted to breathe. He flipped her beneath him and rushed to meet her once more. Her face turned from him and gasped for the air to soothe the wildfire spreading through her limbs. His lips nestled over her closed lid where the dried tears had sealed her lashes.

_"You said you care for me."_

_"Yes," he answered earnestly though he wasn't certain if they were discussing the same amount of emotion._

_Her mind was thinking the exact same thing, and she pressed, "As a friend… and nothing more?"_

_He smiled then and cupped her chin, forcing her to lift her face and look at him. So she did know, and her naïve ignorance was an act. It pleased him greatly, and he eagerly sought to assure her without a trace of fear, "As far more."_

The chestnut curls tangled around her fingers but gave her the grip to guide his face as she kissed his jaw, his cheek, his scar, his brow, finding his lips at last where they pinned her to the bed, and she surrendered.

_"You are not a trinket..."_

_"Why am I here?" she whispered with her heart suddenly thundering in her chest, realizing intuitively the significance of what he might say next._

_His gaze softened, and his smile shifted to one of amusement at her ignorance. "Because I love you, you foolish girl!"_

Her hips caught him, and her thighs stretched until she was at the point of breaking. Her body quaked, trembling from somewhere deep inside her, and when he filled her, the wholeness stilled her. Then he was gone, slipped away, and she wrapped her legs and arms around him to keep him close. The weight of his body sunk over her. She wished he would break her.

"_Myrina…" he murmured partly amused and partly annoyed by her defiance, but his nose brushed her cheekbone as his mouth lowered near her ear where she would have to hear him and acknowledge his intimacy. "Please make love to me."_

Her eyes stung when the air met them, but she saw the fierce chestnut waiting for her. The clarity struck her, his features caught for that moment in her mind's eye, and she pushed aside her heavy thoughts to fit this second. His hips fell into her, and the present flooded over her, shocking her with the burning, swelling pleasure in her belly. She writhed beneath him it, closing her eyes once more. It was too much to bear. His forehead was damp when it rested against her temple, and she begged, "Hector," on the edge of tumbling headlong. He crashed into her unleashed and unrestrained.

_"This is our story. Every wrong and every right."_

—

To the east Apollo loitered in his chariot as less a god than a man. The gods knew much of the heavens, of the sands of time, but little of the fabric which molded men. Today Apollo might have shared the same thread for though the dawn broke, the world breathed, and Hector wrapped a stubborn curl around his finger when it would not move from her face. She would be angry with him for letting her sleep, but he had always found an inexplicable peace seeing her so trusting and subdued. She seemed content when she slept. With her eyes tucked away, he couldn't see the layers of struggle and pain and wisdom that often consumed them. While she slept, he could act as guardian and watch over her and keep her safe and happy.

The wind chime called from his left, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Apollo's steady climb. A god he would always be, unable to understand mortality or empathize with the limitations. He turned once more to admire how the pale light smoothed her naked skin with not even her hair pooled across her to distort his view. He bent forward near a rounded shoulder but halted barely a breath from her skin. He yearned to mark every inch of it –every curve and indention though he new the map of her body by heart, but his touch would wake her. He couldn't face those eyes yet, and he had no more time.

He tucked the stubborn curl into her hair though it slipped across her forehead only moments later and stood to approach his armor.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Hello lovelies! Long time, no update I know! Unfortunately I've been in the throws of a new semester (including a fiction writing course which has taken the majority of my creative juices), planning for a trip abroad, and handling some family matters. Luckily or unluckily, I've been sick and finally had the chance to work on this. So we all can see that Hector thinks he's doomed, but do we? Am I really that mean? Next chapter's the last chapter, so you'll find out :)

Special thanks to AmyLNelson, Syrena Swift, Cotton Strings, It's Amy-Chan, windex, and klandgraf2007 for the reviews! You guys are the best!

Amy: Miss Amy! Omg get out of my head! They have grown so much, and clearly I wanted to acknowledge that in this last scene between them :) Seems fitting though considering you've always been one step ahead of me. So tell me… what's going to happen to Hector and Myrina? I'm so glad you like the kiddies. I swear I took forever trying to figure out names for all of them though I always saw from the get-go what their personalities would be like. Seemed so obvious to me. Haemon's my little Hector in training :D I failed on the Achilles front… I really picked my brain on how I could make this happen, and I had a possible idea… but it just didn't play out. Sorry, gorgeous! Totally awesome idea though, so you still get props for your genius. I'm the one lacking haha It's been awhile so I hope everything is still going well with you. I remember you being very happy with the way this year was playing out :) xoxo

Syrena: Ummmmmm…. Sharp objects wielded by you? Egads! If you're not pleased with the next chapter, I might have to flee the country or learn how to sew so I can stitch up my stab wounds. Pressure's on baby! :D Hope you liked this chapter xx No more creepy Kathy Bates pictures… I don't even know how you find this stuff!

Cotton: The touch… the feel… of cotton… Now I've got Zooey Deschanel stuck in my head haha I'm full of surprise perhaps? I do get some sort of sick enjoyment out of messing with your head and making you think I'm going one way and then –boom! Something else happens. So… who knows hehe Though for the record, I surprised myself when Hector didn't marry Andromache. I was actually planning on it, but by that time I was too attached to Myrina and Hector and couldn't go through with it. I'm such a sucker… Well, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and fingers crossed for the next one! xoxo

Amy-chan: It's Amy-chan! Did I respond to all your PMs? If not, I apologize. There were so many different conversations going on, my puny brain couldn't keep up :) [though seriously I have the attention span of a toddler] "Dayum they been busy"… word. That's how I likes my mens… Strong and busy haha We've already discussed Eric Bana obsession ad hoc ( that's not used properly but I like the way it sounds). So I hope everything has been lovely in your life, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! xx

windex: Lots of babies! Heck yes… Poor Myrina right? Ancient times with no medicine or anything… God they were probably in labor for like days. Ok sorry. No one wants to think about that haha You're adorable to check all the time, and I'm sorry to keep you in limbo for so long with this one! I'll try to be more timely with the next and final chapter! Thanks, doll xoxo

klandgraf: Yay! You read my mind :) I did want Haemon to be a little Hector in every aspect. You'll see it more in the next chapter too. As for the sequel, oh my goodness I don't think I could manage that. I love this story and have had a blast writing it, but I'm ready to break out of the Troy section. I possibly started working on a more contemporary story for Black Hawk Down, but that's tentative. I may need a little vacation after this haha I've been working on this story for like a year now! Goodness! Ok rant over. Thanks for the review, and I hope you liked this chapter! xx


	47. Kingdom Come

Chapter 46  
"Kingdom Come"

* * *

Recommended Songs: "Kingdom Come" – Coldplay

* * *

The bronze hinges groaned beneath their burden, and her features twitched as if their irritating cry were itching at her cheeks. Her head shook slowly, her eyes searching behind the fog of her closed lids, and her few uneasy hours of sleep drugged her with weariness. As her mind recognized its own numb consciousness, she started abruptly and sat up in bed.

"Hector."

Their empty quarters met her now doused in the bright rays of sunlight pooling through the columns, and at the opposite end of the room his bare racks confirmed the pit in her stomach. In a rush she was on her feet and calling for Callidice to bring her robes and wake her children. Her scattered nerves were the fire pulsing beneath her skin, and her hands shook too fervently to pin her hair. The last grains of sand dwindled in the hourglass, teetering on the edge of falling, and Myrina knew how futile it was for her to try outrunning them –not that it could stop her.

Ignoring the curls falling over her shoulders, she rushed through the threshold where her three boys and little girl waited with their nurses in the atrium. Oblivious to their mother's harrowed face, Haemon and Nereus sparred, Iliana chased their progress, and Ariston dug at one of her flowerbeds. The nurses stood as she entered the atrium, but still her children had not noticed.

"Quickly!" she called in a quaking voice. "Come! We must go to the gate!"

Iliana fought her grip, but Myrina held her all the more firmly against her hip and hurried through the palace halls to the guards waiting to escort them to the gates. Despite the barren streets, the horses were too slow, the guards unconcerned with coaxing them on faster, as though Myrina's haste was ignored by all. Her gaze flickered to Apollo whose chariot now eased higher into its arch over the lands, and she begged him to turn, to reverse this day, to shade them in night for the rest of their lives so long as this could be avoided.

Her attention was stolen in one sharp jerk by the haunting call of his voice on the breeze. Intuition drew the chill along her spine, and she stared, stunned, at the gates stretching out in front of them. Barely a breath passed her lips before the call sounded again, and Ariston buried his hands into her robes like he had when he was only a boy. She gently stroked the tight knit curls crowning his head, and realizing his own awareness made the morning too real for her. Some vain, tragic hope in the back of her mind told her this was a dream –that she would wake in her husband's arms and be free of this nightmare. But Ariston reminded her of the burnt taste of sand on her tongue, the sun's rays blinding her eyes, the muffled echo of the horses' progress down the main street.

"Do you hear that?" Nereus whispered to his older brother.

Haemon didn't respond.

Finally, the horses stopped, and Myrina guided her children onto the dirt street with shaking hands and toward the guard tower where the royal family watched from the ledge. There, she would be able to face this warrior who threatened all that she loved, but she had come too late.

Ahead of them, he descended the stairs with his helmet already in place and shield drawn upon his arm. She was captured by the single-minded concentration, towering brawn encased in his armor, profile etched by his helmet with the plume spilling from the top. She recognized the soldier, not her husband. Then his gaze turned to them, and he approached his family now pooling around Myrina's skirts. Ariston clung still to the material, partly hiding behind his mother's legs, and Iliana abruptly quieted in Myrina's arms. Her large eyes quivered in the face of the soldier's approach, and she began crying.

Hector rested his shield against his thigh and removed his helmet when he reached his family. He smiled tenderly at his youngest and wiped away the tears staining her plump cheeks.

"You do not recognize your father?" he prompted in a soft tone, and Iliana focused on him, taking him in through her continued cries and finally stretching her arms out for him.

His smile faltered as he ignored her open palms, and he turned toward Nereus and let one large hand rest upon his head. "You will be Athena's favorite." Ariston now crept from behind Myrina's legs and squeezed between his mother and older brother to better see his father and gain his attention. Appropriately, Hector's gaze slid to his youngest son, and he smiled once more to see Ariston's vacant awareness, the numb realization of fate in a child's face, even as his robes were stained from the dirt of some mischief. Never had he seen his son so sober, and he acknowledged, "I will have my eyes on you to witness all your tricks and capers… but I know you will make me proud." Ariston stepped forward once more and reached to draw his fingertips across the embellished shield.

Hector then considered Haemon who would not return his father's look. Hector's features softened with insight, but still Haemon gazed stoic and stern into the space directly in front of him.

"My first child," his father commented distantly. "My first son." Haemon's hands curled to fists, his jaw taut to harden his young features. He would not let the day break him. "You will be greater than I ever was."

His chestnut eyes finally turned toward his wife who couldn't hide the quaking of her features, drawn from deep in her core. Every piece of her was shaking unsteadily as though the very thought of facing a moment without him undid the foundations which formed her. Staring into her eyes, the color of the Aegean Sea, now pooling with tears, he saw the little girl of his memory echoed in this moment. He smiled and reached for her cheek, comforting her now as he had then.

"My Myrina." He paused and drew his thumb across her skin, searching her face for the words. "You've bore me four healthy children to carry on my name. You have given me years of marriage. You've given me your love, your loyalty, your wit." She sank closer nearly resting her temple against his cheek but too fearful to turn away from his gaze. She couldn't release him yet. "No man has been so fortunate, and if Hades calls me, I face him with no regret."

From her trembling lips, she promised, "If you leave, I will follow."

"No," he snapped sharply, eyes hardening in command, but her sorrow softened him not a moment later. Once more his thumb traced her cheekbone, and he amended in a gentler tone, "Not this time." Her gaze pleaded even as her tongue was leaden, and he bent past the siege of her eyes to kiss her temple and swear, "I will wait for all eternity to see your face again."

"Hector," she begged in a sharp breath, the tears spilling over her lashes, but he drew away. Iliana clung to a handful of his hair, and he carefully unwound her tiny fingers and straightened to consider his family in a sweeping look. Once more his eyes settled on Myrina, and he slipped his helmet into place, gazing at her where the familiar features of his face were distorted by the sharp lines of bronze. Her limbs settled to stone, her quaking finally stilled, only her heart beat erratically through her chest.

He slipped the shield onto his arm and turned to approach the gate, but a hand penetrated his resolve and halted him in his tracks. Alarmed, he turned to consider Haemon who gripped his hand like a bronze guard and now considered his father openly, his face ripe with the words complicated by his youth. That look made Hector reconsider as he took a knee in front of Haemon and grasped his rounded shoulder.

"You must be brave, my son."

Haemon swallowed thickly but nodded his head. Myrina stretched to touch his temple and remind him of the family at his side. Haemon glanced toward her briefly, and her heart ached to see his chestnut eyes clouded with tears. Hector stood again, more lethargic than before, and needed the moment of stillness between the warrior's cries to square his shoulders and remember his purpose.

He turned, took his spear from a guard, and faced the gates groaning as they parted. The heavens stretched out overhead, but Hades was calling for him below.

—

The dry ground cut into his skin when he fell to his knees before the invincible warrior whose blue eyes were ablaze in his infinite fury. Blood flooded his lungs due to the spear driven through his armor and deep into his chest, and he gasped incessantly at the elusive air as his body choked on the thick, red liquid. A slight breeze moved his hair across his face, and a stray ray of sunlight blinded him when he gazed up into the face of Death. In that moment, his immense pain melted into the periphery of his consciousness while his mind drifted off to another place and another time long forgotten, yet always remembered. She was standing in a field of gold with the sunlight at her back, causing her outline against the sun to overshadow her and mask her defining features. The sound of her laughter trickled through his memory like rain kissing his heated skin, and she was beckoning him to join her. His feet were weighed down by some unknown force, but he trudged forward with every ounce of his strength, straining to release himself from his invisible bonds and meet her where she stood upon the hill. With every step forward, however, she danced away from him as if even in death they were playing an endless game. Somehow he had always known he would spend his life chasing after her, but he was so tired and heavy now. He called out to her back, and she paused to peer at him over her shoulder. Her smile lit up her face with more force than pure sunlight, and he felt his restraints ease when he was met with her eyes. They reminded him of the sea and rolled over him in gentle waves, coaxing away the last remnants of his pain and leaving him in unadulterated, perfect peace. Faced with his demise, time slowed, and he was oblivious to the warrior's cry or the pain when his sword was thrust beside the spear. In his last seconds before his body crumbled and his head hit the sand, he was weightless while his soul was caught somewhere in the passageway between this world and the next, and flashes from his memory passed before his eyes. Rather than chronologically, the events swirled backwards, and in his final moment, his life ended with the beginning.

* * *

**Author's Note:** So there it is, my lovelies :) I have an epilogue in the works. I know I said this would be the final chapter, but I wanted this to stand alone. I also felt I needed to continue with Myrina's story even though Hector's ends here. Hopefully you all won't be annoyed by that!

Thank you to everyone who has followed the story, but especially to AmyLNelson, klandgraf2007, Syrena Swift, Audreyxoxo, & windex for the reviews!

Amy: Fingers crossed you like this ending? I am a sucker for happy endings. Part of me was tempted to make the first excerpt about his death a dream that he wakes up from, and then he goes to battle and kicks ass. But I was afraid that would cheapen Hector's story. I mean what makes his legend so spectacular is the tragedy of it. He's this beautiful character, but it can't spare him from death. So I stayed true to my original decision, and hopefully it played out. What say you, lovely? xoxo

klandgraf: Re-reading? I find myself doing that sometimes, and I realize I've already forgotten the majority of what I've written haha I'm glad you liked the scene with the flashbacks. I wasn't planning on it, but it just came to me. Final, official chapter so yes, no, good, bad? I'm kinda bummed this is over, but I'm also pretty exhausted from keeping it up in addition to everything else I've had to do in my life over the past year. But I'm glad you've enjoyed it thus far and have kept up with it, and you've always had such great things to say in your reviews! xoxo

Syrena: Oh my Rosie, you were right! Do you hate me? Do you really hate me? For the record, I finished this late last night, and literally got a random, soft knock on my door. I was like wtf? I went to the door, peered through the peephole, and no one was there. I was like, "(gulp) Rosie?" haha I thought you were out for me already! In other news, I like laughed my ass off when I saw the Scumbag Steve picture! OMG I don't want to end the story cause I'll never get those pictures again :( That's the true tragedy here! I hope you didn't cry, sweet girl... Ok secretly I hope you cried cause I cried when I wrote it. Ugh this is like Oprah's book club or something. Ok... Please don't hate me! xoxo

Audrey: OMG I cried so hard when they killed him in the movie. I might have even yelled at the movie screen... Haha I hate that you kinda dreaded this update. I mean I can understand, but hopefully I did right by you? It felt really hard for me to make this so short and walk away from it, but I dunno I felt like overloading it with details and drama and everything took away from the simplicity of what's happening. And sometimes simple is more powerful? Hopefully I got that? :/ I actually do have a possible other story in the works. It won't be for Troy though. I'm a little Troy-ed out haha Anyway, thanks for the review. Hope you liked this! xoxo

windex: Hahahaha... guess this sucked? Sorry :( xoxo


	48. Epilogue

Epilogue

The boat rocked gently upon the moonlit crests flickering in the night. Perhaps Poseidon was sleeping tonight for no storms brewed on the horizon, and the sea was uncharacteristically calm. The only sounds were those of the water lapping against the wood, the nose bobbing through the waves, and the wind crackling in the sail. The wood was warm with the residual heat of the day against her bare feet though the winds were cool and drawing chills across her skin. She stared unattached and vacantly across the bow where the sea stretched out endlessly ahead. What lands awaited them? What friends; what foes?

Suddenly there was a ruckus within the bowels, and she heard Iliana's voice cry out, "Mama! Mama!" Not a moment later her feet were stumbling blindly down the stairs, and she rushed to her daughter's makeshift bed. Haemon, Nereus, and Ariston were awake as well but had not stirred from their cots. This nightly ritual was well-known but no less urgent for their mother.

"What? What is it, my little one?" she prompted, already feeling her cheeks and forehead for signs of fever.

Her large eyes stared unblinking, and she asked in a panic, "Did I miss him?"

The question was a dagger in her breast, and Myrina's weathered features were the more harrowed though she attempted a soothing tone, "No… No, baby. Not tonight."

"Doesn't he wish to see me? Have I angered him?"

"No. You could never make him angry." Myrina exhaled heavily and stroked at her daughter's damp curls, taking the time to search for the proper words, but she could not undo her vain promise made nearly two years before. She settled for, "It is complicated."

Soon sleep stole the endless questions from Iliana's lips, and she was resting in her bed with her eyes closed and breaths even. Myrina crept up the stairs once more with a wrap drawn about her shoulders, and she settled onto a crate beside the sole candle illuminating his map.

He leaned back and rested his hand on his knee, taking his cup of wine with the other to sip from. He evaluated her haggard appearance over the edge, body bending concave, hair disheveled and knotted into a braid, features hollowed out from her meager diet. He licked the wine from his lips and set the cup beside the candle, abandoning his planning for the moment.

"Again?"

Myrina met his exhausted blue gaze briefly before closing her eyes and rubbing at her temples. "Yes, I should never have promised something impossible to a child. I've done more harm than good." The youngest of their children had little if any recollection of Hector. Only a feeling to cling to –not an image or a memory of his voice. Myrina had told her when she was young that her father might visit her in her dreams if the gods allowed him. She slept poorly ever since them, always kicking and fighting, groaning, fretting at her sheets, and she would wake in a startle and call out to her mother. When Myrina rushed into the room, she would ask the same panicked question, _Did I miss him?_

"Being a mother does not give you foresight," Aeneas appeased. "How else could you have soothed your children?"

"I don't know," she whispered gently. Her expression turned bitter as she felt the pricking of tears behind her lids and flashed her eyes at him, furious and untamed. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"Surviving." His gaze leveled, and he pushed his cup of wine toward her. "Though not for long. You barely sleep. You scarcely eat." When she ignored the chalice, he picked it up and dangled it purposely before her nose.

Her brow knit as though insulted, but she took the cup, tilted her head back, and emptied it. She let it fall heavily onto the map, throwing a bead of dark liquid to stain the pale blue sea in the center as though marking their absolutely irretrievable journey –lost in the middle of everything. The pain in her head faded as the wine melted into her blood. She was amazed by the sensation, marveling at the absence of torment. How long had it been?

"Two years," Aeneas answered stiffly, and only then she realized she had spoken the question aloud. That happened too often: her fears, her dreams, and her reality colliding until she couldn't untangle the mess. There was a soft gurgle as he filled the cup once more and nudged it in her direction. He unwrapped a few pieces of stale bread and sniffed them briefly for mold. They were musty, borderline, but they would do. Their rations were waning after so long at sea. Docking this close to Greece was suicide. Perhaps his could send a servant in a cockleshell to shore to barter for food, but he couldn't afford to lose another were Agamemnon's spies lingering about. His shoulders slumped a few degrees lower, and he sunk until his elbows rested on his knees. Another matter to be considered in the morning after he deciphered this route…

"Thank you."

The whisper was so faint he almost didn't catch it over the competing sounds of night. His head straightened, unable to mask his surprise, and Myrina tugged the wrap into place around her narrow shoulders once more. "You saved us… You risked your family to save mine."

Creusa was sacrificed to the Greeks. He abandoned her to linger in Troy after Hector's death, and when the city was taken, he fled with Myrina and her children toward Dardania where arrangements for their passage were waiting. He was able to save them all, his son and father included, but not Creusa. His guilt weighed his gaze down to the floor, the bitter taste of remorse coating his throat, and he attempted to push away the visions of her enslaved, made a whore for some Greek king.

"I made a promise," he acknowledged and swiped the cup from the crate to finish himself. Upon further consideration, he uncorked the bottle and set it onto the surface between them. He neglected to admit he had traded one promise for another –that of a husband for that of a friend. His faults were a painful reminder that he was mostly human, not godly.

Consumed by her own melancholy, she didn't notice Aeneas' following silence, and idly filled it with her musings, "I wonder if he had remained inside the gates, if he had lived, how would our lives be? Would the walls still stand proud? Would Agamemnon have retreated?"

"No," Aeneas interrupted sharply. "Agamemnon would never have surrendered."

"Then why did he need to die? If nothing would change, why was he sacrificed?" Her voice broke, and she busied her trembling hands with knotting the edge of her wrap. She saw him in the only way the living can see the dead: the brief look of a stranger, the wafting scent lifted on a mysterious breeze, the low, rich baritone of some other man.

She stiffened when she felt the brush on her cheek, and her eyes darted to meet his in a warning. He understood well enough but lingered purposefully. He caught the tear and balanced it on his finger as he released his hand back to his side. Only then did she relax, but she sustained his gaze, searching for his intent. He had never attempted to hide. At times, Myrina caught the blue eyes lingering on her and understood their severity. They had become a family through a trick or perhaps a blessing of the gods. Like a husband and a father, Aeneas protected them, hunted to find them food, and bartered for safe passage across many lands. He would let Ariston sit in front of him when he rode and reward Iliana's growing beauty with quick kisses on her cheeks. He gave them the same love and devotion as his own son, so that Hector's children would never grow without a father.

It took a year still before he grew the courage to touch Myrina, on the elbow with a swift brush of two fingers, and she would have laughed once to see him so tentative. But things were different between them now. She was Hector's wife –would always be– and he was terrified and enamored by the unyielding loyalty and devotion she bore him. Wishing to love her seemed an abomination worthy of retribution in the afterlife, but time at her side made him bold. Two fingers turned to a brush of his arm on her shoulder to a hand on her back and now a stroking of her cheek. She never drew away but merely allowed his attention. She wasn't his trophy or his lover or his wife. Sometimes she let him pretend, but she was always Hector's. Always.

"When we were young, no more than boys, a seer told him he would be remembered," Aeneas commented, grabbed the bottle, and smirked with it poised at his lips. "I always thought I would be the more memorable of us."

Myrina did not mirror his smile, but perhaps she had forgotten how. She endured the same daily routine and burden. She grew to tell her children stories of their father in painstaking detail as if she could give her memories to them to comfort their tears, but she felt selfish knowing none of her children would ever understand the love she bore Hector or the time she spent with him. She had kept a black, dirtied pair of Hector's robes, sleeping with them in her arms with her nose buried to catch his scent even after the smell had long disappeared. She had grown accustomed to his comfort, the heaviness of his arm around her, the feel of his lips drawn across her shoulder when he woke in the night.

He made it impossible to live without him.

Then she watched him die –watched the life slip away as he knelt before his enemy, and Death had appeared so seductive to her. It was quick for him. He did not scream or twitch after his body hit the earth. It was easy… Life was hard. Waking up without him, panicked like she had lost him, as if the extinguishment of his life was somehow at her own hands. She should have fought harder. She should have begged him, pleaded with him, remained on her knees until they were bloody. Perhaps then he would have stayed with her.

He came to her once in her sleep while the pain of his death was still a fresh wound, and she had gone to bed with a dagger near her, pondering the proper angle to bury it beneath her ribs. He did not speak a word, but instantly she was ashamed of her weakness when faced with his strength. She inhaled the heavy musk of his skin, collapsed beneath the weight of his arm, and turned to bury herself into the familiar warmth of his embrace. She whispered her secrets to him like when she was a girl and only left with his pin, and in the morning, he was gone. Her tears were dry on her cheeks, and she remembered her perseverance.

"Sleep," Aeneas interrupted her thoughts. Her head was hanging lax between her shoulders, and she stiffened abruptly when she recalled her place. "I will take the watch tonight."

"You did not sleep last night," she pointed out. There was only one makeshift mat left unless she slipped in beside Iliana, and already the young girl was growing too large for them to both sleep comfortably. Thus, she and Aeneas took shifts to keep watch, but whenever Aeneas was the first, he had an uncanny habit of not waking her until dawn. Meanwhile he would be up all night, pooling over his maps and plans.

"Sleep is a luxury," he dismissed with a charming grin. "I hardly need it."

"The bags beneath your eyes suggest otherwise, Prince."

"Attacking my vanity, Princess?"

"You've left me nothing else."

He bent across the crate, lured by the unexpected appearance of her wit, and admitted, "I was afraid age would dull your tongue."

"For you, Fate is not so kind."

He chuckled, pleased to see the smile in her eyes though it did not manifest on her features, and drank from his bottle. Movement from his left caught his attention, and he snapped to make out the slender figure shifting through the darkness. The young boy stepped into the moon's light, and his father relaxed once more.

"Ascanius, you should not be up here," he chided in a sober tone.

"I could not sleep," he mumbled, his following yawn betraying his words, and Aeneas drew him onto his knee. "Iliana woke me."

"She is asleep now," Aeneas pointed out and readjusted his son who was leaning heavily into his arm.

"I know."

"Then what excuse do you have?" The little boy shrugged, his sleep-leaden pout turning to a grin when Aeneas' fingers tickled his sides.

He squirmed briefly until his father ceased, and Ascanius wondered, "Where are we?"

Aeneas bent over the map and began whispered gently to explain their position on the sea, and for the first time in a very long time, the edges of her lips twitched near a smile. The young boy bore a striking resemblance to his father except for his tawny brown curls, and seeing the two interacting so seamlessly reminded her of a morning she had watched Hector and Haemon examining a map of Troad, of all the lands he was meant to inherit after his father.

Haemon would make him proud, and in him, she saw the most of Hector. He bore the same unruly crown of chestnut curls, sidelong grin, and dutiful purpose that stole his innocence away too young. Aeneas trained him and taught him everything he knew, Nereus as well. The bond between them was impenetrable, and the older they grew, the stronger their traits. An informant warned them that Agamemnon searched the lands for them. Myrina hoped the arrogant king were foolish enough to trace their passage years from now. Aeneas and her sons had every reason to face him. They would not make his death quick.

Aeneas glanced from the map briefly, but when he saw the quiet tears rolling down her cheeks, he couldn't look away. She wiped at them futilely for an endless trail was poised on her lower lashes, and his brow creased in question. She waved her hand to prompt them to continue, and his face echoed his understanding. Thus, he leaned over the map once more and continued his conversation with Ascanius, bending back from time to time to point out the appropriate stars guiding them. Myrina watched them well into the night until Ascanius fell asleep in his father's arms, and they remained to greet the dawn –and, finally, land.

—

"How much longer will we last?"

Aeneas tucked the gold pieces into their sack and away from her prying eyes. At the start of their journey, the leather was swollen, seams stretching, with the currency Aeneas stashed for their journey. Now it hung limp in his fist and barely made a sound as he tied it to his waist once more. They had sold most of what they were able to take from Troy –her spare gowns and jewels, weapons, horses, bottles filled with wine and oil. The dwindling of their resources reflected the stark depravity of their existence. They were lost souls walking this earth: meant for Hades but searching instead for refuge.

"We will have enough," he assured her curtly, and his gaze flickered to the shell necklace dangling across her collarbones. His eyes spoke of a threat, and she quickly covered the precious shells with her hand. He looked to her once more but did not speak.

Myrina fell quiet as well and drew her other hand along the horse's neck. Three of her children were piled onto the steed, holding fast to each other to be sure they did not fall. Haemon and Ascanius were on foot though the latter would soon trade with Nereus to avoid any blisters. Her attention turned to Haemon who was walking on the other side of the horse, behind Aeneas, and lost in his own thoughts. She fell back a few paces and shifted to address her son.

"You should ride as well. It is still far before we may rest."

He jerked to attention, falling into place in this reality and taking a moment to process what his mother had said. He decided, "I am not tired. Let the little ones ride."

'The little ones,' her mind repeated, and she gently shook her head. Did he not realize he was her little one? That he was too young to separate himself from their ranks? Her hand rested on the base of his neck where the curls were growing longer, but he increased his pace to avoid her touch. The same hand was leaden and fell to her side, impotent and useless. She would cut it from her body if it would make her child pleased, make him smile and laugh and remember his innocence.

A thousand thoughts sprung to her tongue, but only one left her lips, "You remind me so much of your father."

Haemon was silent though she felt the waves of fury, sorrow, and regret rolling off of him. "I will not die like him."

Her breath caught in the wake of her son's sharp words, so uncharacteristic and unexpected. They stung her with the effect of spreading venom through her veins until her blood was suddenly boiling at the insult to his father's memory. All at once her hand grasped his arm, yanking him away from the small caravan and holding him firmly in place as she bent to be on eye level with him. Haemon sustained her look without flinching, and she saw Hector peering through those eyes. So quickly was the fire creeping up her spine extinguished.

"I'm sorry that you are angry," she admitted and licked her cracked lips. "My mother died when I was a child, and I never wanted my children to experience that pain and that loss. I would endure a thousand deaths to take this all away… But you cannot curse your father for being an honorable man. One day you will understand his purpose, and I pray you will forgive him."

"He abandoned us. Troy fell because of him!" The words were too bitter for his young tongue, and his face contorted in pain for speaking them. Years had passed since Hector's body was burned. For so long had these bottled words piled up and now overflowed.

Her hands cradled his face, stilling him so that he couldn't turn away from her or from this stripped moment between them. "Troy fell because of our arrogance."

"I didn't want him to leave. I would have told him," he mumbled with his shoulders shaking.

"He knew. He loved you so very much." Her hands stroked his curls from his face, watching his features begin to quake under her tender kindling. "This is not your fault. He was so proud of you."

"Why did he leave?" The tears flowing down his cheeks washed away the tough exterior he had built. There her son stood, the young boy mourning his father. "Why did he leave us?"

Myrina drew him into her arms, holding him tight to still his sobs and gently rubbing his back to calm him. "Because it was his duty."

The caravan had paused beside them, and all attentions were turned to this private exchange between the two. Myrina only met his blue eyes, surprised by how patient and understanding they were gazing back at her. She looked away and held Haemon more firmly. Her hands stroked his back and curls, her lips kissed his moist cheek, and she promised the same soothing combination of words again and again, "He loved you. He loved you…"

—

The sky bloomed gold and red, purple near the sea where the sun hid and gave way for night. The air was salty so close to the sea, the winds gliding across the lands to propel the waves, and sea birds crowed overhead in greeting as they headed out to fish. She sighed as she acknowledged her aching muscles. Years in the palace made her soft, and blisters broke on her palms, ripe and burning to become calluses. She adjusted the bandages wrapping her hands, hissing under her breath as she covered a new swelling, and continued turning the earth. She had watched the farmers in her childhood till the ground and attempted to mimic their moves from memory, but she was weak and had barely enough land prepared for planting. Once more she straightened, this time digging her thumbs into her lower back to massage the knotted muscles, and saw the small group returning from the sea.

His laughter reached her before she could make out his silhouette among the others, and then he parted from the group and turned her direction. She planted the end of the tool into the earth and leaned against the handle. Within sight, Aeneas victoriously lifted his catch overhead, but Myrina shook her head at the scrawny fish.

"You are a poor fisherman, Prince," she commented when he could hear her, and she could better consider what she needed to prepare for a meal.

"And you are a worse farmer, Princess," he taunted, face bronze from the day outside, blue eyes sparkling, grin wide and bright.

She smiled tacitly and suggested, "Perhaps we should switch."

"I don't think my pride would allow it." Her brows quirked sarcastically, and he laughed. "I can't have you return with Herculean fish and be outdone."

"Then your pride has more sway than your stomach."

At the mention, he patted his abdomen and admitted, "Another hour, and the roles will be reversed."

"It may be an hour." She displayed her dressed palms. "I've lost the delicacy of my touch. I doubt I'll be able to hold a knife."

He took her hand and carefully unwrapped one of the bandages to examine the damage beneath, and he frowned at the sight. "You should not work so hard."

"I was not born into royalty," she acknowledged. "I would have done this and more in my youth. I wish I still could."

"Rest tomorrow."

"We can't afford it-"

"Crops will take months to grow," he interrupted. "What is another day?"

"What will the others say?" He took her tool and balanced it on his shoulder, and the pair headed toward their camp. "I do not want them to think I am being lazy or treated uniquely because of my station." Mentioning it made her realize how foolish the words were though she meant every one. She only forgot how unimportant her rank was in light of what they had endured. What was a princess if not but a woman with a title?

"You've worked more diligently than some of the men," Aeneas said with a chuckle. "I think they'll enjoy the opportunity to regain their dignity."

"They're exhausted. We all are."

"Time will ease our burden."

"There is none among us who knows how to build. How will we make homes? What if the crops do not flourish? Our numbers are so few… What of children, families, the descendants to come?"

"You will be the death of me," Aeneas groaned deep in his throat. The sentence shocked her heart, sending her deep into the recesses of her mind to recall that distant memory…

_"Is it selfish to wish my death before yours?"_

_"Yes." He subtly shook his head that their conversation had taken this turn. "Never wish that."_

_"How can't I?" She swallowed as if fearful to voice the words aloud, but unable to keep them inside. "I can't live without you. I won't survive."_

_He gathered her closer, drawing her farther up him where he could better see her face as though that would reveal what had called this train of thought. "Should it ever come to that, you will. You have. You are the strongest woman I know…"_

"…these affairs keep sleep from me too many nights as it is," Aeneas continued, oblivious to her straying attention. "Whatever the future holds, we will face it. The gods have blessed us with our lives. We will not give them reason to take them away."

Ascanius ran from the tent with Iliana on his heels, and both parents perked up as she cried at the top of her lungs, "Give it back! Ascanius, I will beat you!" In response, the older boy dangled the doll from his hands and rerouted back toward their home where Ariston caught the doll and took over.

"Boys!" Aeneas barked gruffly, and the three children snapped to attention, the boys' features paling at such a tone. During the pause, Iliana stole back her doll, and the two chased after her into the tent where the canvas hid their mischief. "I spoke too quickly," he amended. "_They_ will be the death of me."

Myrina smiled and disagreed, "They are the only reason to live." Her profile captured his attention with her bright smile softening her features. His blue eyes lingered heavily, and she tucked a curl behind her ear, letting her gaze drop to her feet. "Why do you look at me like that?"

"How can I not?" he countered. "It has been so long since you've been happy. I had forgotten how beautiful your smile is."

"We are too old for this, Aeneas."

"I know." He shrugged his burden higher upon his shoulder and admitted, "I see the woman you've become. I see the mother you are… And I wonder had I been more tactful in my youth, would you be mine?"

"I thought age had made you wiser," she decided curtly, uncomfortable with this path of conversation though she knew it was years coming. "There is no point to these questions or these thoughts."

"Isn't there?" he challenged. "I saved you before my own wife."

She pushed away the memories of who had sheltered her when Hector's body collapsed, who had stolen the dagger from her bedside, who had comforted her children when she was too weak to rise from bed. "I owe you my life, and you will always have my respect and my gratitude… but I do not owe you my body or my love."

"I've not asked for either!" he growled with a sudden burst of anger as though insulted by her diplomatic response.

It surprised her, and she quickened her pace to maintain their conversation. "I misunderstand your purpose. Why must we discuss this? We are not those children any longer. That's not who we are!"

He turned on her before they reached the tent where this exchange would cease and never again be picked up. "What are we then?"

She searched his eyes, confused and hurt by his anger, and answered, "We are allies; we are friends; we are family… We are not lovers or husband and wife, Aeneas."

"For years I have protected you and your family. I have considered your happiness and safety before my own. Do you love me? Have you ever loved me?"

Her heart thundered in her ears, pulsing through her chest, and she could scarcely breathe for the nerves bundling in her throat. "Yes," she whispered, and her stomach turned with guilt for speaking the truth aloud –the truth she had not even had the strength to acknowledge herself. "But not like him. Never like him."

The fury faded from his expression, and he gazed somberly down at her, studying her distress. Tense minutes passed before he decided, "That is all I need."

"What?"

"I will care for you, I will raise your children as my own, I will protect you so long as I breathe, but I need more than your respect and gratitude." His attention leveled on her so gravely and intently that her eyes pricked, and a rush of shame swept over her guilt.

"I don't know how… I don't know how to love anyone else." She inhaled shakily, but the breath couldn't calm her nerves. "How can I face him in the afterlife if I have not been loyal to my grave?" Aeneas smiled abruptly, and she stepped away with a flush blooming in her cheeks and rubbed the tears from her eyes. "You laugh at me!"

"Yes." He dropped the tool and fish from his shoulders and caught her arms before she could stray further. "It is laughable that you think you could ever be unfaithful. I know you will never love me as you have him. No matter what happens in this life, you will be always be his, and I can surrender you to an eternity with him when our bodies are burned. But let me love you so long as I am still mortal and fool enough to think he will forgive me in the life after this." He pulled her stunned body to his, bending to let his lips sink over her own, deep and unrestrained like a man with everything and nothing to lose. He cradled her tangled hair for leverage, wrapped her body with his arm to mold her against him, and enjoyed her for one blinding moment of satisfaction.

When he ceased his siege, simultaneously content and insatiable, her nose furrowed, and she observed, "You reek of fish."

He laughed heartily and released her to pick up his load once more. "More a princess than a fisherman's daughter, Myrina?"

"No," she mumbled beneath her breath and watched him turn to cross the short distance between the site of their collision moments earlier and their makeshift home lying ahead. She was a widow, and she was a mother. The rest of her life had crumbled with Troy's walls and burned with Hector's body. Her lips blazed, surprising her with the rush of blood behind them. She had been numb for so many years. Her fingers brushed the swollen flesh to feel the prick of her rough hands against the tender skin. She recalled the hallway of her youth where he had marked, and the burst of pleasure through her body just to feel him and know he wanted her. This was different.

"Come now, Princess," Aeneas taunted over his shoulder. "You wouldn't want me to cook these fish."

She smiled. Was it possible to find happiness after Hector? Was she allowed to be loved? Her feet moved from beneath her and propelled her toward their home, but her hands were empty –no answers, no regrets, empty.

—

He looked like he had been waiting, annoyed to be kept but too pleased by her presence to scold her. At the gates, so reminiscent of the towering marble walls of Troy, she passed into the lush fields stretching eternally toward the horizon. Her feet never had the chance to touch the ground. They drove her as if age abandoned its hold over her –as if she were a sun-soaked babe –as if she had wings. The mysticism of this place was lost on her. Only he mattered. His arms drew her against him until the breath was squeezed from her lungs, and she wished she would never draw another hint of air to part them. The realization of him crashed over her, every inch of her body and mind and heart recognizing him. Years should have made them strangers, but they met as old friends. She clung to him with the tears streaming down her face. Not a single scar tainted his skin, yet he was as perfect, tangible, real as he was to her years ago. He was young and beautiful like he had been when she met him beneath the atrium on that day long ago, and she... She was sheathed in the pale layers of her wedding gown.

"You are so beautiful." His large palms cradled her cheeks, holding her in place where he could examine every detail of her features patiently and thoroughly.

Staring into the chestnut eyes she dreamt of for years, aged wounds mended, and she whispered, "I've missed you," afraid to shatter this moment and ashamed by how futilely those words expressed her life without him. "I was so afraid..." The words died on her lips. Her fears were forgotten in this place.

He smiled, the grin so much brighter housed within his dark beard, and he took her hand. "Come... We've waited for you."

Ahead, a hill stretched out in front of them, and at the top she saw their silhouettes etched against the pale blue sky. Her family. Her friends. Those lost in the ashes. One stepped out before the others, so familiar and long forgotten.

"Is that..?"

He didn't answer, but he had no need to. She doubled with a renewed wave of fresh tears though he steadied her against his side, giving her the strength she had lost so long ago. When she was ready, she squeezed his hand, made whole by the sensation of its weight in her own, and let him guide her to meet them.

One life would never be enough, and so the gods gave them eternity.

_The End_

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**Final ****Author's Note**: Did you cry? I cried. Ruined my make up right before class. Damn priorities! Thank you everyone, but especially Syrena Swift and AmyLNelson for the last reviews, two of my favorite ladies ever :)

Syrena: OMG! I seriously cannot express in words how your review affected me... Suffice it to say, I mentally exploded in some rainbow-colored kamikaze-induced blitz of both tears and happiness... And then some :D They'll live a bajillion more years, see? See? Happy ending! I don't think you can have kids in the afterlife, but I'm sure there will be a lot of humping, bumping, and grinding haha I too cried when Haemon grabbed his arm. It was like a Patriot moment, ya know? I didn't realize that until after I'd uploaded it and read over it again, but yea :( In my mind where they still live, Haemon grows up and becomes a man and understand everything and kicks ass or something haha OMG we'll be like nerdy pen pals :) How exciting! I'll keep in touch gurl. I'll do right by my wifey! And the clip of Santana crying hahahaha And the picture of Adam Levine! That's like the face that has to describe our marriage. Snarky and sexy and very smug haha AND THATS MY FAVORITE PICTURE OF HECTOR! Ugh... orgasmic. Like change your panties and go for round two. That's what that picture is... Erm yea uh anyway. I am still writing. It's like my crack, sooo WHITNEY. Too soon? I've started a story for Gladiator. Obviously a complete departure from Troy... complete departure (coughyearightcough). I don't think it's going to be very long which is sort of laughable coming from me, the queen of wordiness and over all loquacious literature. Then after that I've got a plan for maybe a Black Hawk Down fic. Possibly. Who knows, but we'll keep in touch baby girl. You are like a little ray of sunshine in my day, and I'm far too greedy to let you take that away. This is a monster paragraph... Muah gorgeous. Thanks for all the kind support, and I hope you liked this epilogue xoxo P.s. Is Aeneas Scumbag Steve?

Amy: Happy ending! :) Ok it's in the afterlife, but so what. That's like an eternity! Hahaha I loved your comment about what Hector said as being prophetic. I like to think so. Like in my little, nerdy mind the story continues and Haemon is like a badass like ten times more B to the A than Hector which is hard to accomplish. I mean you get more insight here into how Haemon is coping, and I think he'd carry this with him (I mean how could you not?). It would drive him to certain degree. Anyho, I hope you liked how Myrina's life continued or the little excerpts I wrote about. I don't know how people will feel about Aeneas, and initially I was going to have him like be really respectful and laid back... and then I was like who are you, weird anti-Aeneas character? Aeneas would be like 'yea respect Hector's memory blah blah blah... Take off your shirt' haha And that's why I love him, so hopefully you liked that part and didn't wanna go vomit or something haha Sigh... Now I have to go switch the story status to complete :( I think you've been my longest reader and reviewer, and seriously your kind words gave me that nudge to push through the writer's block and procrastination and all. I always looked forward to getting the little notification about your review and rush to see what you had said -like if you had hated it, I would be devastated haha So thanks doll. Muah xoxo


	49. The Story Continues

The story continues…

Hello lovelies! You're all probably cursing me because you think I spontaneously uploaded another chapter, but alas, I am leaving a short note to direct your attentions toward the _sequel_ of Girl in the War. I know I swore I would not continue the story, but… liar, liar, pants on fire, Nola. The sequel is called The Lost Kings of Troy, and the plot is as follows: 18 years after the Trojan War, Aeneas and his children have begun anew. In a land where gold is power, allies scarce, and war a constant danger, they stumble upon a secret that threatens to destroy their home -yet again. I don't want to give away too much, but it will be a departure from GitW, focusing primarily on the children who are now adults. If this interests you, please check it out! xoxo


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